I am considering packing for my journey to Whitstable. I will
bring my Laptop, and spare DVDs just in case. A disguise may also be useful if my work fails to impress. I have the fear again, a sort of creeping dread overwhelms me. My companion usually helpful in such matters ( largely it must be said by telling me to shut up) is away at a conference in Brighton. Her main preoccupation is with her bites which refuse to heal. One, on her hand, has taken on a crunchy consistency making a clearly audible noise on compression. She has just sent me this image of a staked hand.