Monday April 23rd, 1973 and it would appear to be a day of celebrations in my country of birth. Something called St. George’s day. I’m sure the meaning will become abundantly clear at a later stage in my life but at 23 days old, you tend to have more pressing issues to deal with.
I am in a place called Nutopia.
Apparently, the place does not exist.
This is the first of many disappointments.
or What Happened The Day I Was Born.
March 31, 1973. 7:15pm to be precise.
I have no idea what I am, where I am, or why I’m here.
It’s bright though. Very bright. And noise. Lots of noise.
Several words were repeatedly mentioned, amongst others.
Congratulations. Boy. Red Rum.
Was this code for ‘terminate’ or something less drastic?