Client P. has been dreaming of submarines. Like most fat men he conveys an air of self pleasure and occasional wonder that there may exist things in this world that he cannot eat. And so when he confessed that he had been sexually abused as an eight year old (did he really think I didn't know? ), he did it with the same air of bemusement and I momentarily felt like telling a silly joke. But I have never seen a man sweat like he did today.

Later, I followed him. Having paid for a foul Cornish pastie I came across P. extracting a large wad of notes from a cash-point. Convinced that on the pain of his confession to me he was about to pay for some annihilating sex, I followed him down western road without a single other thought in my head until, at last, he freed us both by slipping into the pub.