I looked around, confused. Where the hell was I?! In panic and denial, I shut my eyes again.

”I must have been dreaming”, I thought – it was the middle of the night, after all. A couple of minutes later I was fully convinced that I was indeed tucked up in my own bed at home, so I opened my eyes again.

Crap. Still in a basement.

As my eyes searched around the darkened room full of someone else’s stuff, I looked at each item in turn, hoping for a clue. I looked at the writing on the side of the boxes stacked up against the wall. Shit. Not only had I woken up in a strange basement, I had also lost the ability to read. No matter how hard I tried, I could not make sense of the letters. So I did the only sensible thing – I shut my eyes again.

Once again, I was well on the way to convincing myself that I must be at home, when something moved in the bed beside me.

What? Ok, no. I would have remembered that! Who the hell was in my bed?!

I opened my eyes again. Too scared to turn over and see who was beside me, I continued to stare around the room. Old furniture, clothes, more boxes.

Finally, I spotted a small silver suitcase. A distant bell began to ring in my mind and I eventually recognised the suitcase as my own. I stared at the suitcase, trying to grab hold of the fragmented memories.

I had been on a flight… Copenhagen… A few glasses of wine… A few espresso martinis… A few gin and tonics… perhaps a couple of shots…

Oh.

A “quiet night in” with friends I had met in Morocco the month before, which had turned out to be anything but. There hadn’t been enough space for us all to sleep, so I’d agreed to share a double bed in the basement with a friend. I couldn’t read, because I can’t understand Danish.
Thankfully I had not been drugged, kidnapped, or locked in a basement against my will. I had just given myself one hell of a hangover.

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