The sun never sets on the British Empire

It turned out the woman driving the car was married to a colonel in the British army (I will withhold his name) but that didn’t become clear until a few hours later. I can remember her approaching me out of the darkness – she had a small wound on her forehead and there was a small trickle of blood coming from it and running down the side of her face. I looked up at her and said, “Did I do that to you?” at which point she became slightly hysterical and said, “don’t worry about me, what about your leg?”

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  1. Were you not, at first, angry with the woman for driving so recklessly?
    Did the wound on her forehead make you sympathetic?
    I’m sure you did not know at that time, the extent of your injuries?

    1. I wasn’t angry, no. Remember I didn’t know what had happened. It was almost as if the curtain had lifted on a play – Act one, scene one. “It a clear night and the only illumination is being cast by the pale yellow glow of a streetlight. A man is sitting in the middle of the road. There is blood pumping out of a wound on his leg. He doesn’t know how he got there”. A woman appears out of the darkness – she has a small cut, which is bleeding slightly, on her forehead. She has a concerned look on her face as she approaches the man”.

      I truly didn’t know where I was or how I’d got there. It was as if I’d awoken from a dream (or I was in one). It felt surreal. I had no reason I could think of to get angry with her.