But passing out a whole day later, that was something you shouldn’t do. What was more, you might want to avoid passing out altogether as injurious to your health and dignity. And you never could tell what you’d miss while you lay unconscious – the world, as you know, being full of such lovely surprises. Although Alfred had to admit that fainting was not in itself any type of surprise. There’d been a time – mainly ’46 – when he’d dropped off the twig with great regularity. He’d grown quite used to the seconds of grey sinking that would signal an episode and, glad of the warning, he’d then avoid sharp edges, dogs or kiddies and hope to aim himself away from roads. He’d taken it quite calmly, he thought, been philosophical, and the trouble had cleared eventually, almost stopped. More than a year must have passed since he’d last found himself unwittingly horizontal. But at 10.56, down he’d gone. He’d been standing to attention in a mocked-up Appell: everyone out on parade for the fake Nazis and a camera grinding by on rails, peering at the ranks in one direction and then sneaking back like an untrusting sergeant, inspecting them again.
