Inventing the Wheel

At 7:45 a.m., Burbank knocked on my door and woke me up. It was 15 minutes before my alarm went off, so I’d generally be annoyed, but he’d gone downstairs and fetched me an apple strudel, coffee, and this morning’s paper because he knows I like to do the crossword. I thought that was very kind, though not entirely surprising. However, I didn’t feel like doing the puzzle this morning. I didn’t even pretend to be interested despite all Burbank’s efforts going out on the street to pick one up from the man with the ratty gloves. I’m insufferably selfish sometimes.

The real reason Burbank woke me up 15 minutes before my alarm is because he was excited to share last night’s dream with me. In the dream, Burbank was a caveman. There were loads of other cavemen and cavewomen about, all living in caves and eating moss and bugs and that. Then Caveman Burbank tumbled down a hill and none of the other cavepeople bothered to help him. He rolled all the way down and hit his head on a rock. That must have jogged something in his brain because when he came to, he had an epiphany: rolling down a hill took less time than it would have to walk it. The rock he’d hit his head on was sort of flat and circular. He lifted it up, turned it on its side, and gave it a push. It rolled along for a bit, then toppled over. And thus the wheel was invented.

Burbank calls this dream a flashback. He reckons he must be the reincarnation of the inventor of the wheel. I think he’s probably right. Someone had to have invented the wheel, didn’t they? Why not Burbank?

Today, we’re doing a spot of sight-seeing. We’ll try to beat the crowd to the London Eye, maybe hit some museums so Burbank can donate his art, then meet up with Lenore for dinner before my book signing at 7:00 p.m.