I had to go into Farnham today because I didn’t yesterday. It’s unusual for me to go on a Thursday these days. Gone are the days of every day shopping for me. That all changed with the advent of Covid19 and the use of my wicker trolley. And, given my love of schedules, I see no reason to change things back.
The thing is, and the reason I’m bringing it up, is that it doesn’t matter what day I go shopping during the week, each one is the same. I see and greet the same people either taking their kids to school or walking their dogs. Or both. Depending on the time, the traffic in Castle Street is either heavy or light. Likewise, the customer density in Waitrose.
But it was mostly the people in the park. I had a sudden thought that I might be in my own version of The Truman Show. In fact, I kept looking behind me to make sure the people weren’t rushing off to their next station, preparing for our next interaction. Or wondering what Christof is up to somewhere above my head.
When I explained this to Mirinda, upon my return from the shops, she wasn’t convinced. She reckons it’s the same every day whether I’m there or not. My answer to that harks back to the old tree in a forest not making a noise if no-one’s there to hear it.
It also reminds me of a theory I had many years ago that I’m the only person to exist in a vast experiment by non-humans and everything and everyone else, is not real. It occurs to me now that this is what religion must be like.
Is this existence the invention of some god with a Playstation?
Who knows. Not me. Though perhaps when the god reaches a high score, he’ll let me know. Or I’ll just disappear.