You will see, alas, that all of this is true.
One morning, I awoke in a feather bed in a room in a tavern and reached, as I always did, for my purse of gold, but it was not there. I had been travelling on business for many months and weeks with only my faithful coachman Joseph for company. Wherever I stayed, I would put the purse of golden coins by my pillow. Each night it was the last thing that I touched, and the first thing I touched in the morning.
Sometimes, when I climb a flight of stairs, I have a strange feeling, which may be peculiar to me. I misjudge the number of steps and then, at the top, I put my foot down on nothing. Then my whole body feels dizzy. It is as though the world has made a mistake and not I.
I had that feeling when I reached for my purse.
Get Britain's best politics newsletters
Register to get The Spectator's insight and opinion straight to your inbox. You can then read two free articles each week.
Already a subscriber? Log in
Comments
Join the debate for just $5 for 3 months
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for $5.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just $5 for 3 monthsAlready a subscriber? Log in