Sleeping brains are funny things. This one comes as the UCU boycott is resurrected to muted response, me wanting to respond, and also the unrelated realisation that my sigg bottle is probably lost for good and I’m going to have to buy a new one.
A long, straight, shrub-lined track, like the ones they sometimes show in nature films about India. Two convoys of canvas-less landrovers, extending as far as the eye can see, are driving slowly in opposite directions. One is transporting Hesbollah fighters, the other, Israeli fighters. Until recently there was fighting but now there’s a fragile truce and they’re pulling back into their respective territories.
I’m an Israeli fighter and I’m seated on the bench seat in the back of one of the landrovers at it jolts along the pitted track. Everybody is impassive. Israel and Hesbollah are ignoring each other and apart from the noise of the vehicles there is silence.
My sigg bottle is, somehow, a hand grenade. I get it out and sit with it on my lap. Nobody in my vehicle says anything. Then I lift the hand holding it. The other fighters note this, but nobody says anything. Then I get to my feet and throw the bottle in the direction Hesbollah convoy and we quickly turn and duck. There’s an explosion. Warm, wet liquid slaps the back of my neck. Suddenly I am filled with regret. I desperately hope that the liquid is a water from a rut and not blood. There is still silence.
And then, probably at a good moment, I woke up.