I was dreaming with a heavy heart. In short, I find myself fatigued at the idea of another onslaught of whispering, rumour and the unending, oedipal desire of Gareth to smear my name. I wouldn't mind but he is forever looking in the wrong places. He could do a lot worse than overhear my next session with R., for example. Indeed, I find myself wavering on the border of a misconduct. And for all my tiresome articulation of impulse, it is also a cultural provocation. Do we not, after all, require ever more sophisticated forms of transgression? And so it is in this mood I will entertain client R.

And George has invited me over.

Something will break, I suspect.