I am at UKC, in a darkened corridor which I don't find familiar. I'm out of breath, and it seems that I've run far and fast to get here, although I don't really know why.
There are lots of people waiting outside the seminar room, but I know none of them - they are all just part of a general, shadowy crowd, merging into one another.
We file in and sit down - the room would be familiar to anyone who has ever set foot into a modern classroom, yet at the same time I know I've never been there before.
The seating is arranged in very long rows, which give the impression of the room being much bigger than it actually is. Everything is still masked in shadows, giving a sinister impression, but the light rectangles on the curtains suggest that it might be bright outside.
The teacher is a very strict woman whom I've never seen before - although young she gives the impression of being stern, and barks at several people to stop talking before she begins.
I laugh at her admonishments, and she tells me that if I don't like it, then I'm welcome to leave.
Frankly, I can't be bothered to walk all the way back downstairs - besides which, I cannot shake the feeling that I'm waiting for something to happen.
As if on cue, the door opens, and Marija hurries in late, giving me a smile.
Unfortunately, there's no room in my row, and she sits at the end somewhere.
The teacher is having a go at someone once more, and I close my eyes, just wanting to drift away - a class is now the furthest thing from my thoughts. As the general discussion opens, it soon becomes apparent that there is only one valid opinion in the room - whichever one the teacher holds (and for the record its relationship with reality is often tenuous).
Marija catches my gaze, and I can almost feel myself blushing - how on earth can I concentrate under such conditions?
The teacher snaps me back to the real world - how dare I daydream in her time?
I decline to comment, and Marija smiles sympathetically - something which instantly makes it all ok, I might add.
The teacher starts talking about the Baltics, and Marija is quick to contradict her - this woman has absolutely no idea, so it's good that someone has picked up the mantle.
The teacher snaps that she doesn't care where Marija comes from, she should keep her mouth shut unless she is spoken to.
I can hold my tongue no longer, and get to my feet, telling the woman that she is an ignorant fool, but that aside she has no right to be rude to Marija, far less to prevent us hearing her interesting, well informed opinions. She should apologise.
Briefly, the teacher looks stunned, and then angry - she tells me to get out, and deflated, I turn to leave.
As I go, I feel Marija take my hand - she smiles at me, then we leave together, not looking back.
After that, the details become more hazy - one time I drove her under Luton Arches, although it was being rennovated and there was scaffolding everywhere, whilst in addition you could see all the original Victorian brickwork.
Another time we drove to a beautiful lake, then went swimming together, and the water was so clear you could see silvery little fish darting about. There was a waterfall, and afterwards she washed her hair under it and generally looked like an Angel.
However, most times it ends with what I perceive as a random Lithuanian road trip - unspoilt plains, gently rolling slopes and little farms.
In other news, my holiday is perhaps going worse than I predicted - in the 12 days since we broke up, I have ventured further than a few streets from my house a total of 4 times - once to see my Grandparents, and once to go shopping.
My friends who have lives have unfortunately been rather busy of late, so obviously the fall-back position of meeting up with me has been made a little redundant.
However, yesterday something amazing happened (or at least what passes as amazing for a man who sees taking pictures of dustcarts as something to do), and it means that I can sit here and delude myself that things might work out some more, so excellent news (for a man who has no other, at least).
I set myself a number of writing tasks for the holiday, anticipating boredom, and of course there is omnipresent German revision (not to mention other kinds), yet time still stretches before me like a great yawning chasm...
Can I use the opportunity which sprung up yesterday to turn this thing around?
It's unlikely, but I'll keep you posted - after all, I have little else to do.