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NEW YEAR'S EVE
by Lorna

I woke early, half past five to be precise, having been disturbed in my sleep by a "schizophrenic" dream. I switched on the radio and heard the DJ laughing uproariously at me. 'You've just been inside the head of Hitler!', he jittered. Unamused, I got up out of bed, washed and dressed. The voices were already swimming around inside my head 'Get up! Get up! You've got a mission to accomplish!' Now wide awake and alert I wondered what this mission was to be. I had already got used to the cacophony of different voices going on in my head over the past few months and each time they had led me into unreal and often dangerous situations. All I knew about this particular morning was that I had to leave the house as soon as possible and follow the voices.

I left the house at about six and made my way towards the tube station. Here I jumped on the District Line and headed off towards Victoria. As the train shuttled along, I let Victoria whizz past, not quite knowing where I was off to. It was only when I reached Tower Hill that I finally got off the train and made my way to the Tower of London. Once there, the voices stopped and I began to wonder what on earth I was doing. At the same time I had a rather eerie premonition that somehow or other I would end up in the Tower of London or some other sort of prison awaiting execution. This premonition was to prove to become reality some time later...

Anyhow, I jumped back on the tube with two thoughts swimming around my head. Either I was going to head off towards Highgrove Cemetery with plans of picnicking among the tombstones, or make my way to Brent Cross shopping centre. Eventually, after a snapshot decision, I chose the latter, although I had absolutely no idea what I was going to do once I got there.

Some time later my voices returned with a vengeance. This time they told me that I was a Marketing Executive and that I was doing a special project where I would be testing out the products in shops. A kind of market research project, I guess. As a result of this I ended up trotting around from shop to shop at the Brent Cross shopping centre with a mission to test out all their merchandise. First stop: the Body Shop. Squeezing pastes and oils into my palms and rubbing them in, opening boxes wrapped in cellophane, painting my face with foundation, lipsticks and blushers, I set to pulling the store's products to pieces testing them for market viability. After that I trailed from shop to shop inside the Mall pulling products out of their plastic boxes, stretching materials, pulling hair out of dolls' heads and basically doing anything that might warrant quality control. Marks & Spencers, The Disneystore, Abbey National - they all became candidates for my market control inspection. The funniest store, though, had to be Toys R Us. As I entered the store a really odd feeling swept over me. I suddenly felt incredibly confident, as though I was the Chief Executive of the company. In fact together with the voices in my head, I WAS the CEO, but this time on the look out for dud goods within his store. I swept through the store pulling Barbie palaces to pieces, crayoning in books, riding scooters, dusting the mini kids' computers with cuddly toys - anything, basically, that a 5 year old might do. Oblivious to the odd glances I was receiving from the customer service floor staff, I carried on pulling belts off children's safety seats, flinging plastic pizza slices across the floor and squeezing toothpaste along the cupboard walls. It felt GREAT!

Once I'd finished roaming round the store I left feeling on a complete high, as though I'd just run the marathon, or something. Once more I jumped on the tube, but this time I was on the look out for something BIGGER and BETTER. Next stop, Harrods!

Jumping into a taxi, I asked the driver to stop off at the Ritz en route. Here, I slunk into the Ladies' washrooms, returned and headed off to the Knightsbridge store. Once inside I headed straight towards a jewellery and scarf counter. Here, I became ever more destructive as I felt my body now ascending into an never ending high. Nobody could stop me now, I thought. I found a pair of ugly ceramic earrings, which I promptly snapped in two. Worthless trash, I thought. Then I started shredding the silk scarves, which were beautifully laid out on the counter - rip, riiippp, riiiiiiiippppp! What a wonderful sensation! Suddenly conscious that I might be being watched, I slid around the corner into the handbag store and carried on with my little shopping venture. I picked a frail little evening bag, skilfully embroidered with a string of beads forming the handle. One big tug and the beads spilled out all over the floor. Ooops! The sales assistant scurried up to me with an enormous glare. All I could think of was to say, 'that's disgusting'! Charging all that money for a bag that falls to pieces so easily!' and thus I stormed off leaving a baffled assistant behind.

Several departments later, having attempted to pull heads off teddy bears, having made up a fluffy toy seal with lipstick, powder and paint, and having strolled along the menswear department with open umbrella singing 'Singing in the Rain', I ended up at the window display. Here was Nirvana! A dining table all set out with champagne flutes and a bottle of Veuve ready to open and drink! So there I sat in the window display happily watching the open-mouthed passers-by staring through the glass, while I attempted to open the bottle of Champers. It was then that I was seized. Two heavy-weight security men grabbed my arms and pulled me off my seat. Thirty seconds later I had been thrust out the door with my tail between my legs. Oh what disappointment at not getting my glass of Champagne! Surely that bottle had been meant for me? Or certainly so the voices in my head had said. Anyway, feeling tired and dejected I decided it was time to head for home.

By the time I reached home many of the voices had dissipated and I was beginning to think a bit more clearly. It was New Year's Eve and I had planned to meet up with my friend at around 7 o'clock, so once I got into the flat I ran a hot, bubbly bath so that I would be ready to go out. Once in the bath, though, the voices began to reappear and quite loudly, too. They were saying things like, 'you don't need your friends. Go out by yourself and I promise you we'll have lots of fun together. It'll be your best New Year's Eve ever!' At the same time as hearing the voices I began to feel high again. Maybe they were right, I certainly could go out by myself and, if today was anything to go by, I would certainly have a lot of fun. So, by the time I'd finished my bath, encouraged by the echoes in my head, I had decided yes, I would go out alone and a damn good time I would have too.

All excited I decided to dress up for the occasion. I made myself up with fresh make up and rouge and then slipped into my little black dress. After that I put on a pair of PVC knee-length stiletto boots, a pair of velvet ball gloves and a fancy feather boa. To top it off I wore my large, black fur coat to add a bit of glamour to the occasion. I really looked the Biz (or so I thought) and felt absolutely fantastic. Now I was really ready to hit the town!

I ordered a taxi to pick me up from outside my flat and as I got in I declared brightly that I should like to be taken to The Ivy restaurant in Covent Garden. The driver didn't bat an eyelid and took me on a roundabout tour of London past Buckingham Palace, where I gave a one-fingered salute to the Queen. This was rather bizarre in itself since I have never really had anything against the Queen, but it felt at the time as though I had no control over my movements and, all of a sudden, my brain was telling me to raise my velvet-gloved hand and give her the 'up yours'. Charming, I must say.

By the end of the journey my voices had truly taken over and I was beginning to feel as though I was some sort of film star. So much so that when the cab stopped outside The Ivy I got out without paying and ran inside the restaurant, hotly pursued by a rather irate taxi driver. Here I promptly declared that I was Emma Bunton and that I had a table booked. Two rather bemused waiters halted me at the entrance to the restaurant, adamant that I should not be let in. Obviously my similarity to Emma Bunton was rather more psychological than physical. Eventually, after a few protestations on my behalf, I left the restaurant, leaving the taxi driver behind in my wake.

I trotted up the road in my stiletto boots and came across a small, Indian restaurant on my right hand side. Feeling rather peckish I thought I'd slip inside and treat myself to a slap up meal. Once inside, though, I suddenly felt high again and began to take the waiters to task with the standard of the restaurant. 'This is disgusting!', I cried. 'The table napkins are blue and not pink! And look at the size of the wine glasses - I could hardly fit a thimble full of wine into those, never mind a decent sized glass!' Encouraged by the rather amused looks on the faces around me I continued to comment on my new surroundings alta voce for some time. Eventually, however, I felt that I was getting nowhere and, after remonstrating with the kitchen staff, I flounced out.

Once back on the streets I spotted a blue flashing light in the distance a little further down the road. Intrigued, I followed the cobbles down the street and there before me, waiting just for me (or so I thought), stood an unattended police car with the door of the driver's seat flung wide open. Faaanntaaastic! I thought. The voices have brought me all the way here to have some fun - it's all meant for me! So, obeying the voices, I quickly slipped into the driver's seat hatching all sorts of plans to drive all the way to the Millennium Dome with grandiose ideas of gatecrashing past the security in order to get to sit beside Tony Blair. Then all of a sudden I felt somebody strong behind me seize my right arm, pull me out of the vehicle and push my arm behind my back. Ouch, that hurt! Before I knew it, I had been pushed into the back of the car alongside two strapping policemen and driven at great speed to Covent Garden Police Station. Blue lights flashing et al.

Completely confused, I was then taken into the Police Station, where my personal effects and boots were taken away from me, whilst I had my fingerprints and mugshot taken. Soon afterwards I was thrown into a small, grey, grungy cell with a rather old, disused toilet in the corner. I lay down on the bed (a cold, plastic mattress) and continued to hear voices strumming in my head. 'You've got to get out of here!', they squealed, 'you don't belong in a cell!'. By this time I had become truly disorientated and wasn't quite sure what was going on. Surely, this was all part of the game my voices were playing with me? Surely, they can't leave me here to rot forever? I started banging on the walls furiously, beginning to feel claustrophobic.

Then, all of a sudden, I noticed a single chip in the corner - a tasty morsel from somebody's dinner that had been dropped on the floor, but which by now was covered in all sorts of dirt and grime. I began to focus on this chip for some time and, at the same time, began to hallucinate. My voices started up again and said that, if I ate the chip I would win £1 million. Sorely tempted by this, I got close enough to the chip to pick it up, but somehow sanity prevailed and I dropped it back on the floor at its original spot.

Next, I began to think that this was some sort of game and all I had to do was shout out the correct thing and I would be released. I remember staring at the ceiling at all the graffiti, pondering for what seemed like an age as to what exactly the right thing to say would be. Then I got it! I started banging away at the cell door screaming 'let me out! Let me out!' and when the police lady finally arrived and opened up the peephole to see what I was on about I shouted out 'I know where Osama Bin Laden is!'. Needless to say, the police lady left me to it.

Some time later, I, and my voices, had quietened down to some extent and I lay motionless on the bed counting the scribbles on the walls. It was then that I heard champagne corks popping and the explosion of fireworks outside my little, bare prison cell. It was Midnight on New Year's Eve and I had spent most of the evening inside this cell. It was then that I realised that I should have been celebrating with my friends at some cosy, local pub in West London, not stuck in some sort of timeless hell-hole.

Eventually, my voices died down completely and, after a little snooze, I was finally awoken by the sound of the keys in the cell door. I was being let out! I was then taken to see a young man, who I hadn't seen earlier, who offered me legal advice and handed me a business card. My personal effects were then returned to me and I was thrown off the premises. It was half past three in the morning. I had no idea how I was to get home. Anyway, eventually I hailed down a cab with two other strangers and I arrived home in the early hours of New Year's Day, tired out by my little adventure.

A few weeks later I received a summons to appear in court to explain myself. I was still ill at the time and had no intention of turning up. After all I had work on that day. I ripped the summons up as though I were a Parisian with a parking ticket and thought no more about it. To this day I am still not sure whether I have a criminal record or not. Needless to say, I am now 100 % fit and well, regularly taking my medication and holding down a full-time job. Thankfully, I no longer suffer from hallucinations or voices, but will never ever forget my little 'escapade' on New Year's Eve.