I seemed to be upside down. The car radio was playing "Goddamn right it’s a beautiful day" by The Eels and I tried singing along. Something in my mouth got in the way. There was no other noise, silence shimmered off the tarmac. I realised that my face was very close to the road. I became aware of the pressure across my chest and stomach.

"Goddamn right it's a beautiful day." My tongue wouldn't form the right sounds. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a large white form. It wasn't quite a perfect sphere and it was melting. Melting? That seemed odd the more I thought about it and I thought really hard, as hard as I could.

I had driven through a storm, I was on the motorway. It was a gallstone. Huge. Like a rock. I could see others in my peripheral vision. I like The Eels.

“No, it's not a bloody gallstone you twat” said a voice. “It's a hailstone.”

Of course it was. Enormous hailstones. Just another freak weather event that was no longer so freaky.

“What are you, a fucking Yank, what do you mean freaky?” said the voice again. Yes, right, I'm not American, I should have said unusual. It was so hard to think.

All the blood had rushed to my head, on account of me being upside down. Some of it was rushing out of my head too. I could taste and smell the iron, feel the warm slime of it. I could see it dripping down past my nose onto the road.

It was crimson and that made me feel proud. Like when I gave blood, saw it so red and luxuriant in the plastic blood bag, feeling proud as I had my squash and penguin bar afterwards. Maybe I could have some back now, some of my own squash.

“You're at it again idiot, you don't want your squash back, you'll need blood. What the fuck is the matter with you?”

That seemed like a good question. I checked. I appeared to be hanging from a seatbelt, bleeding out and a little broken in a mangled mess of metal. I felt that I should tell the voice, whoever it was. There didn't appear to be anyone around, I tried to move my head again but it hurt so much.

“Keep still you knob.”

This time the voice seemed to be coming from my right. With effort I could see the colourful stripy hat and the little furry ears.

“Don't look at me” it shouted. It was a small monkey looking thing, fluffy with pink dungarees. It had no feet. Just arms. I wondered where its legs had gone.

“I'm a fucking glove puppet” it said. “I have no legs, that's where you shove your big hand.”

Glove puppet. Janey’s glove puppet. Janey in the back, strapped into her seat. Little blonde girl with the curls, who hadn't made a noise this whole time. Good girl I thought.

“Goddamn right. It’s a beautiful day”.