Wonderful, splendid music was issuing forth from my car speakers. After a moment I recognised it – it was Harry Walrus and The Trouser Boys with their latest hit single, ‘Have you seen my new trousers?’ It was a great song and no mistake. ‘What a strange and evocative world this is,’ I said to myself, caught up in the emotion of the moment, ‘How poignant I find it, and how richly humorous at the same time.’ I wanted more than anything else at that moment to pursue my destiny in this world and taste to the full the possibilities that were inherent in this particular conditioned reality, but then just as soon as I had this thought everything changed. The so-solid world that had only seconds before I had been standing in broke up into frenetic fractal trash. The multiverse was shifting gears once more, unable – it seemed – to settle down to any one determinate reality. Then – before I had a chance to go over what it is happened – I found myself in a new world that was every bit as solid as the last. I was standing in the car park of Iceland in Doughiska, just as I had been before, only this time my car was a silver Toyota Auris instead of the more luxurious Ford Mondeo that I had been driving before, and the music playing on the car radio was Stephen Megma and his Fabulous Heavy Metal Orchestra, playing their big hit of the summer, Toe-jam. I found myself tapping my feet in time to the music – it was a catchy tune and no mistake. I felt rather odd because on the one hand I never heard the song before nor the name Stephen Megma, whilst on the other hand it was as if I’d heard it many times. I even felt that I had some personal connection with Steve – I knew his face, I knew his voice, I was even familiar with his mannerisms of speech. He was my friend. I had memories of hanging out with him on many occasions and yet at the same time I didn’t. It was a profoundly unsettling experience – the experience of a memory which is new and has no place amongst any of one’s other memories. When you have spent as long as much time as I have jumping from one parallel world to another then you get pretty used to this sort of thing however – it’s no big deal really. That’s what I tell myself,anyway. It’s no big deal, you get used to that stuff. In time you do. And then there was another shift – I was in another car park – always a car park – raining as usual. That much was the same. The rain and the dark car park, the rain and the dark car park. I was trying to start my car but it wouldn’t start. The key kept turning in the ignition but nothing was happening. The roof of the car was leaking and my feet seemed to get straight through the floor and were touching the road beneath. I realised dimly that this is one of those pretend cars were you had to move your legs and make it go like that. There wasn’t even any pedal that you could pedal to make it go. I walked my feet as quickly as I could, reversing out of the parking space and edging slowly onto the main road. Bits of the car were falling off as I went and I was starting to get worried about joining the heavy traffic on the street. The car was tiny, like a kid’s toy car – the top of it was only about three feet off the ground. The panicky feeling inside me was rising and rising as I went along; I was having to work my legs frantically but even so I didn’t seem to be getting anywhere. Cars were roaring past me on both sides. Any minute now the bottom was going to drop straight out of this absurdly stupid car. I was under pressure and yet there was absolutely nothing I could do about the situation – my legs were going faster and faster trying to keep up with the rest of the traffic. The back doors fell off one after another and I felt that I was sitting all scrunched up in a damp shoebox. It was a dark night with no moon and no stars and cold rain was pelting down pitilessly – the cold, cold rain. Incongruously, a tune was running through my head – after a moment I recognised it as ‘Harry and the Wide Boys’ with their latest wildly popular hit ‘Have you seen my new motor?’