I watched the television closely, searching for a shining pixel of truth within its armory of invention and hyperbole. A month of Sundays flew past and I twitched as I observed flapping newsreaders, croaking commentators, soaring celebrities and a flock of inanities. I was no better than any of them lying in state in the eternal motel of the mind.

The apocalypse was playing again. Fortunately it was in wide screen and high definition which heightened the excitement for me. After all, who wouldn’t be bored with repeats? I knew the ending of course but that didn’t matter. The Angel of the Apocalypse reared up over the disintegrating city as flaming gobs rained down.

It was almost a shame to have to get back to reality after my month in the digital departure lounge. No news was good news but in this case I was astonished to see that precious little had changed around me. The previously ruined motel was even more dilapidated and my perception of the world was lacking in accuracy and forgiveness.

The final days of chez moi had jumped off the screen like the last surviving cockroaches in the world. A circling maleficent creature dipped low above the motel, searching for signs of life and death. She only found me and I understood that my time was well and truly up.