The Seven-Day Plan 3: Revenge of the Return of the Son of Seven-Day Plan

Here is a tribute to one of Glasgow Uni's greatest resources: the Level Six Annexe of noble fame, treasure-trove of eastern European culture and history and site of almost untapped reserves of Slavic Soul. Reflect, comrades, that even as I write this another nameless soldier lies dying, conscripted by the hand of history into the battle against world fascism. As his final breath escapes him on some lonely shell-ploughed field, he thinks, with a serene expression on his face, 'I die, alone and unremembered... but while, because we fight and die... the level six annexe will live on...'

(Okay possibly I am exaggerating. It's a really good annexe, okay? One of the best.)

The sound of my every step falls heavily on the carpeted floor and on the silence; the jingle of keys from my pocket seems a clashing tambourine; the kick-stand moans and screeches over the floor as if in protest. Then I stop to run my hand along a shelf of books, and the silence returns, still more complete than before.

I feel I might be far below the Earth: the slight chill furthers the illusion, as does the dusty sunlight, filtered through windows that slope like skylights.

I savour a few quiet moments, snatched and hidden from the world at large. But should it really be so quiet here, with all these words squeezed spine-by-spine together - close enough for the ghosts between the covers to wander along the shelves, greeting old friends, sneering at enemies, arguing in different languages, shaking their heads at the turn of history?

They’re here, I feel sure, but they keep quiet. At least, until I take a book; and one ghost hurries back along the row to resume its station before I can open it, and hear their voice.