Fictional characters struggle through despite top-notch traumas and “interesting” illnesses, as doctors like to describe some of the ills befalling mankind. Writers, on the other hand, must often deal with less spectacular ailments – minor gastrointestinal disorders, for instance, or ye good old dependable: the common cold. Itchy eyes, nose running like a leaky faucet, long bouts of brain-jarring sneezing. This is the case over here this morning where even the camera’s view on the kitchen looks a bit jaundiced.

There’s food shopping to do. I start work again tomorrow, dealing with children, some with learning disabilities their parents don’t want to acknowledge, others with their natural curiosity and urge to learn flattened out by any number of family disfunctions. For now, I’d like to lie down, sleep, and wake up filled with the steady hum of energy. But there’s another bout of sneezing about to descend, so I’ll stop typing before the fingers fly off into gibberish.