“A journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step,” according to ancient Chinese philosopher Laozi, and who am I to argue with a nine hundred and ninety year old man? I don’t quite have a thousand miles to go – more like 60,000 words – but this afternoon I wrote the first few paragraphs of “Plank 4”. They are the first I have written, but whether they will actually be the first in the book remains to be seen. But it is a great pleasure to be in Sam’s company once again and to hear his voice. Suffice to say that he and Wilson have just broken into a workshop in London – not quite sure where yet, but probably near Liverpool Street station (which of course was not there in 1827) – and have found something rather unpleasant and mystifying.
On the downside, I can start to worry again about my husband’s health. He’s perfectly hale and hearty, but if anything does happen they always suspect the nearest and dearest, don’t they, and here I am with an Internet search history featuring things like “when does rigor mortis set in?” and “what makes dead bodies smell?”. It’s going to be hard to explain.