Since the incident in Limassol (see previous post) I’ve had the weirdest feeling.

It’s as if I’m living in a movie, a film noir or a Hitchcockian espionage thriller.

Arrived home yesterday.

My brains are fried and I’m drinking too much, hence the lack of new posts.

I haven’t met any more secret service men but I’ve been served by a few suspicious looking waiters and bar-tenders recently.

Then there was the guy behind me on the flight, and the way the passport control clerk looked at me, and the Israeli taxi-driver who picked us up at the airport…

And I found out this morning that we’ve got a new postman – we’ve had the same guy for five years and he didn’t look ready to retire – and I’m sure I detected an American accent.

Why did he buzz the doorbell to hand me a letter that would easily have fitted the letter box?

And why has the woman across the street taken in a new lodger?

Why does the water taste weird?

What’s making the lock on my front door stick when I turn the key?

Something is happening here but I don’t know what it is.

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