For a moment all was well. He was floating at the upper edge of the stratosphere where the blue sky fades to black, looking at the curve of the earth. Somehow he could see himself down below, a pinprick on the map of fields, trees, rivers and villages. The atmosphere gently cradled him in a soundless cushion. Then all of a sudden, he telescoped down with a rush, through the clouds and into his own head.

He first became aware of his ear being extraordinarily cold. He opened his left eye and could see only brown.

“I am Dave” he thought to himself. He was indeed Dave – Dave Shepherd. So far, so good.

Next he opened his right eye and stared at the brown. This staring caused him to blink and as he did so a lightning storm seared his brain. It felt to Dave that his head was oozing through tiny razor edged fissures of bone. Simultaneously he became aware of jagged pains in his legs and hips, as though he was lying on rocks. The brown came into focus and differentiated itself into tiny grains, lumps of soil and….rocks.

Dave slowly put his hand up to his head. “MY HAIR. WHERE’s MY HAIR? MY HAIRS GONE!”

His hand butted up against a wooden object and Dave slowly turned his head to see what it was. He had to do it in tiny increments so that his brain did not hammer against the inside of his skull.

Looking up Dave saw some dirty patched legs with straw coming out of the knees. He decided he would sit up and spent the next 25 years, it seemed, slowly positioning himself an inch at a time. Once in a more upright position Dave could see the entirety of the field in which he had slept. It sloped off towards a small coppice. In the distance were some sheep studded hills over which the new sun was breaching. A delightful pastoral scene silently appreciated by Dave until the entire contents of his stomach made a Vesuvial egress onto his already soiled clothing.

“I don’t remember having red onions”

The fragments of Dave’s consciousness were rapidly joining now to reveal a scene of dire circumstances. He was alone in a field having spent the night there following his stag do. He had no hair and was covered in vomit, he was freezing cold, probably dying and not anywhere that he could identify. He was getting married at two o’clock.

Dave checked his pockets, which were of course empty - phone, wallet, everything gone. Dave turned slowly onto his knees and then hoisted himself up until he was eye to eye with the scarecrow. Big blue buttons gazed at him and saw deep into his soul and he was found wanting.

In the distance Dave heard a car engine. As he turned, walking tentatively across the field was his best man looking sheepish, carrying the international symbol of reconciliation, a McMuffin and coke.

“I’m going to kill him” whispered Dave to the scarecrow, who knew better but said nothing.