Been tracking the blighter for days. First got wind of it last Tuesday, running wild in the local school.
Then heard it had been seen trying to get into the old folk’s home. I’ve been outside, waiting, watching. Thought at one point I’d missed it. I was about to call it a day when I saw it trying to sneak in with one of the cleaners. It never stood a chance. I had it safely neutralised and boxed in minutes.
Must rush, just had a message that Man Flu’s in town and needs dealing with.
“But doctor, what about this voice in my head?”
“Stress, Mr Carson. I’m going to give you a sick note for two weeks. I suggest you use that time for a relaxing holiday.”
I first entered Tim Carson’s body three weeks ago. He is desperately trying to rationalise my presence. I’ve done my best to explain what is happening but he won’t accept it. A shame really. I’d hoped we might co-exist harmoniously.
I will use this two week holiday to finalise a total merger.
By the time he goes back to work, he will be a new man.
I simply reacted like any teenager. Scowled a lot. Said it was boring and I’d better things to do with my life.
I never mentioned Neil.
The ever-popular, charismatic Mr Neil Samuels. The charming ex-professional who used to keep me behind at the end of sessions for extra tuition. The same dependable man who made me promise not to tell anyone about our little secret.
They said I was good. Olympic standard at least.
Nowadays I can’t go near a swimming pool without being violently sick.