The secretary smiled again.

‘Ah, I see the Lord Majestic Soothsayer has assumed the identity of a modern day female – cunning. I, myself, Bertram the Mystic am known to some as Simon the Vet.’ The secretary had zoned out by this point and ‘Simon’ took a seat and waited patiently for the Lord Majestic Veterinarian Soothsayer.

‘Simon?’ Victoria’s eyes glinted, ‘Nurse! Doctor! Anyone!’

Simon squinted to allow his pupils to dilate. He noticed Victoria grinning like a child that’s been given a balloon for the first time.

‘Excuse me maiden, do you know what day it is? I fear I am late for this year’s Druid Summit.’

‘What do you mean, Simon? You’re in hospital; you were hit by a bus.’

‘A what? I am unaware of this creature – have I been reprimanded by the druid council?’

‘What are you on about, Simon?’

‘Simon? Who is this ‘Simon’ you speak of? I am Bertram the Mystic, I would like to converse with the Lord of the manor, if I may.’

‘I’m off honey, see you around 6!’ Simon shut the door and proceeded with the first of his new year resolutions – to be more eco-friendly, so he thought he’d start by walking to work.

He didn’t have to walk far, as his practise only involved a quick dart to the right, a skip past the library, and then a short hop across the pelican crossing in front of a double-decker bus. Oh…

The doctors were baffled by Simon’s swift recovery. Victoria had been warned they couldn’t keep him alive for ever if he was unable to breathe independently. The doctors took a step back with current progress and let a psychologist intervene.

‘Well, it’s definitely amnesia. He firmly believes he is a medieval warlock called Bertram the Mystic, and he’s being held captive in the dungeon of this castle,’ informed the psychologist, ‘ and jolting his memory at this moment could be tricky and potentially devastating in the long-term, so…’

‘So what? You suggest we release him into the real world thinking he is a medieval druid?’ said the doctor.

‘Simon’ was still waiting patiently for his druid friend to appear from the murky depths of the back room.

‘Shirley, there’s a Bertram the Mystic here to see you, I can’t shoo him away,’ stated the secretary.

‘Oh, don’t worry; that’s just my old boss who got hit by a bus. I’ll be out in a mo.’