My mind’s been scrubbed clean by the scrubbing machine and I can’t remember a thing. My mind has been scrubbed cleaner than clean, whiter than white. You really wouldn’t know it. I really wouldn’t know it! I don’t know it. I don’t know anything about it. I couldn’t tell you a thing. I feel like making up a little song about that: not a thing, not a thing, not a thing, not a thing. Not a thing, not a thing, not a thing… That’s how it goes. A merry little refrain to echo down the corridors of your frighteningly empty brain…

Everything echoes in my brain. Everything echoes because there’s no context. There’s nothing here – the scrubbing machine didn’t leave me anything! No matter what you think it’s going to echo – it’s going to echo long and loud, like twenty rusty old kettles all strung together and dropped down a well. The kettle calling the well black. Whatever thought you think it’s going to echo – it’s going to echo because there’s nothing there. There’s no context for anything; there’s nothing to give what you just thought any meaning so it just keeps on rattling around. You’re not there to give it any meaning. Or rather I’m not! There’s just the thought, on its own, rattling around…

I’m not here because I’ve been scrubbed clean – I’m whiter than white. Even Daz won’t get you as white as this! How white are your whites? Would they stand the test? What would the neighbours say? Would be a bit on the embarrassing side wouldn’t it, if your whites come out looking all pissy-yellow…

Mind you, I miss the grime. The grime was good. The grime was my context. It was the accumulated grime and detritus that made me the man I was – if I was a man, that is. I could have been anything – I wouldn’t know!

I am trying to reassemble myself, put myself back together again. Establish some kind of relationship with myself. Hi, I’m me. How d’you do? How’s things? What’s the story? Are you well? Keep it nice and light. Don’t get into it too much. Don’t get personal. Don’t ask any awkward questions, like “Who were you before you got scrubbed?” Nothing embarrassing like that. Keep it light. A bit of harmless banter. Have a bit of a laugh. Think of some amusing little comment, nothing too personal. Something lighted-hearted. Something like… – I don’t know what like. I’ve nothing to go on. I haven’t the context to take it any further. I’ve got no material – none at all. Everybody needs a bit of material to work with, don’t they?

Hi, I’m me. How do you do? How are you? Who are you anyway? This isn’t going very well, is it? This isn’t going anywhere at all, in fact. It’s going nowhere and I’m too embarrassed to admit it. Pretend that I haven’t noticed. Pretend that everything’s fine. Pretend that everything’s fine and dandy. Pretend that everything’s normal. Try to pretend that I know what ‘normal’ is.

There’s no normal here. There’s no normal because there’s no context. I’ve nothing to go on. What’s my angle? Everyone needs an angle, right? There’s no angle without any context. There’s only my thoughts, rattling crazily around my head. Rolling noisily down the long empty corridors of my mind. Like a bowling alley. Going bowling. A perfect strike every time. Yes! Scrubbed clean by the scrubbing machine.