A Lot Of Bull

"So", she said, steepling her fingers and leaning back in her chair. "Tell me: What happens?"

I reflect for a moment, take a deep breath, and begin.

"It started – it always starts – on Santa Domingo street. That's in Pamplona, in Spain. You've seen it on the TV, it's on an old, curved city street, narrow and with high walls. The gate opens, and, before you know it, the avenue is full of bulls, And I mean, packed! A dozen or 18 bulls come out already at the run. The bulls are being chased by some guy who has a large stick in his hand. He has got those big beasts spooked.

I'm not alone: I don't know, a hundred others around me, mainly men, mostly young. Everyone is wearing white shirts, and most are in white trousers. There are a lot of red kerchiefs tied at the neck and red belts.

And we take off! We run like hell. It's tough – the first section is uphill, and the bulls are fast. The guy with the stick is still chasing them, and they are not happy.

We're straight through the Plaza Constitorial – there are barriers in the open sections – and I can hear screaming and shouting. People are falling in front of, even under, the bulls. Some get trampled, some get gored, and I am genuinely, sincerely frightened. I feel like I am running for my damn life. I am panting, my leg muscles are on fire, and I know – we are only a third of the way through the route. A few of the men and women have got in front of me. I am still pretty near the front of the pack. The bulls are sometimes so close, I can smell them, which makes me run even harder, digging deeper than I ever have in my life."

I look up. She is still listening to me, eyes half-closed, leaning against the high chair back. Her face is expressionless. "Go on", she says.

"We're back in ancient, narrow city streets. The buildings are shops and apartments, maybe six stories. People are hanging out of every window, on every balcony. Every storefront is packed with people. They're shouting and screaming and waving flags, and there are whistles and soccer rattles. It's pandemonium, and the bulls are out of control, just running scared.

And right here, there is a 90-degree turn. It's a chance – a slight chance – to get away from the bulls. In front of me, two men take one another out, one loses his footing taking the corner, and he knocks the other flying, and I hear the visceral scream as one of them meets a ton of bull, up close and personal. And although I am running faster than I ever have, quicker, I swear, than Usain Bolt, I try to go even more quickly.

I know it's nearly over: I am confident, if I can keep on my feet and keep moving, I can make it. We are on Calle Estafeta. There are bars and restaurants, and people sat enjoying the spectacle! It's bizarre. I feel like I'm running for my actual life, and there are people sipping sangria and beer like roman's watching gladiators. But it's only 250 yards to the bull ring.

There is a slight left turn; the big gates of the Plaza De Toros, the bull ring, stand open in front of me. And this is the point when someone barrels into me, and I sprawl full-length in the dirt. Every bull is now thundering up right behind me, one runs over me, one kicks me in passing, and one hell of a bull is about to gore me…which is when I wake up."

"You wake up?" she says.

"Every time," I reply. "There are slight variations. Sometimes, I don't get the whole way to the gates. I got into the bullring one time, and a damn bull jumped over the barrier after me. Every time, I wake just before I am about to get gored.

For four nights now, every time I go to sleep, I have had this dream. It's always Pamplona; it's always the Festival of Sam Fermin; I am always running from these bulls. I daren't sleep. I'm exhausted. "

My boss looked at me. "And you tell me you have never been to Pamplona in real life? Never run with the bulls? Never, in fact, been to Spain? It is," she said, "One of the more creative reasons I have been given for someone being late for work: Again."

She stood, indicating the interview was over. "On balance", she said, "I think the story is a load of bull. I suggest you watch less YouTube or TickTock and try to get to sleep earlier. If you're late again this month, I'll dismiss you. Good morning".

Honest! Some bull!