A night of weird dreams: variously, being given a Cohiba cigar in a cigar tube, which when opened, turned out to be filled with cocaine; then bursting into flames and being on fire all across my upper body, in extreme pain and having to frantically roll around to extinguish myself; then switch to getting changed out of sports kit in Freshfield's reception in full view of the receptionists (who were behind a glass screen, like in a bank) who were laughing and applauding the fact that I was wearing absurd bright pink underwear; then leaving in my new smarter clothes to meet Robert Maxwell in a hotel lobby and having to play with his two little (7 or 8 year old) kids and their toys. No doubt the diagnosis of all this is total lunatic.