The San Andreas fault is all in my head

On the Beverley Hills tour, our bus driver told us that he and his wife were looking to move away from Los Angeles in anticipation of the “big one”. People say that California will one day fall into the sea. The predicted cataclysmic earthquake may cause mass destruction, but the western state is unlikely to break away from the mainland. Bit by bit, the shape of America will change, as do all of the continents, even though we will barely notice it during our tiny lifespans. There were “little ones” during our short stay at the end of our Route 66 adventure, although we didn’t feel any ourselves.

The (approximately) £10,000 worth of platinum in my head creates its own version of seismic activity. I have experienced numerous large internal shifts of whatever it is that goes on – a medical mystery, according to one dismissive doctor who seemed to be trying to disguise his suspicion that it was all in my mind. The subsequent double vision that occurred was sufficient physical evidence to substantiate my knowledge that something is going on on the inside. Don’t get me wrong – it doesn’t bother me one bit. I’m delighted to be able to live a more or less normal life after such a close encounter with meeting my creator (or not, as is more likely to be the case). But day by day, with a greater frequency than the disturbance of a Californian seismograph’s needle, my own “little ones” occur, causing their own minor disturbances – more for other people than for me though, as they can’t get their own heads around the fact that it is normal for me and that it will never change. I’m totally happy with it as it is – that’s another thing that people can’t get their heads around.

“You should go to the hospital and get it checked,” they say, concerned eyes looking over the tops of their glasses. It doesn’t work like that though. It is how I am and how I always will be. I will always, from time to time, suddenly jump and wince with pain, only to recover within a few seconds and carry on with life as if nothing had happened. My “big one” may happen one day. It doesn’t bother me. It’s not as if I could move out to escape it, like our Beverly Hills tour guide. Perhaps I should move to Los Angeles and wait to see which “big one” comes first. Now who would possibly be able to predict that one?