Last weekend I wished my brother-in-law a happy birthday a day early. I clearly knew that his birthday was November 17, instead the problem lay with my ignorance of Saturday’s date.
The good news is that I might find myself at home in Oceania. Days, months, and years are all a little questionable there. Was it 1984? Maybe, give or take a year. What about April? I’d say Aprilish with a heavy dose of March’s lionlike behavior. And what about that 7:15 call for physical jerks? Wouldn’t you start to wonder if they’d teased you out of an hour or two of sleep, shoot, even our government does that every spring.
But this we know. Difinitively. Well, that is if we are to trust Big Brother Google:
May 2, 1984, the “Sunday” that Winston trips through the golden pools of light and misty bluebells to make his rendezvous with Julia, was a Wednesday.