A rambling look into the thoughts of an autistic magazine writer whose husband has just left her. Although laugh-out-loud funny at times, the slow pace and random nature of her thoughts left me with a sense of the bleakness of Ramble's life.
The alarm clock woke me to chaotic thoughts and a sense of foreboding. I slid out of bed, blundered over here to the table and for some time simply sat and looked at the pigeons.
I sat and considered pigeons, alligators, orange peel, alarm clocks - regarding the last of which: when I mentioned that I ran away from the man in Portsmouth saying, 'I must be completely mad, I forgot to turn off my alarm clock,' this was untrue. I don't mean untrue that I said such a thing, but untrue that I'd forgotten to turn it off. I didn't possess an alarm clock.