New York
Just as well I never made it down south. For the last three weeks I’ve been feeling kinda funny, finding blood on my pillow in the morning and having headaches, things I attributed to my Karamazovian hangovers. While waiting to fly to Iran, I decided to go to see a doctor. He took one look inside my head (via an MRI) and told me I had to have an operation right away. The mother of my children flew over, held my hand, the doctor cut out a tumour of sorts, and I’m now home recuperating and happy as a lark. I shall know next week whether this was a bad or good tumour, but – before some Murdoch and Guardian hacks break open the champagne – the doc says it’s a good one.
This is the good news.
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