Image: © Fandango
When we found him sitting on the kerb, drool dripping from his lip he was strangely coherent.
“It’s my brain,” he said, in his rich English accent. “It’s all scrambled, twisted in on itself and I can’t seem to do a thing about it. I think one thing and the opposite sits up beside it arguing it’s what I should be thinking. I’ve given up. It’s easier to let them fight it out and for me to sit there and worry.”
At the refuge, we bathed him, gave him clean clothes, a meal and a bed. He fell asleep within seconds but an hour later was awake claiming he’d been kidnapped and shanghaied onto an Antarctic whaling boat. From his mouth came a fierce debate as to where he was.
After a little time, he fell back asleep as we made arrangements for him and his twisted mind to get the help he needed.