The black spot(s)

No, it didn't happen at the Admiral Benbow. I was at Mougins for the 'simulation', or trial run for the radiotherapy. Lots of time in a machine, with strange whirrings only a centimetre from my skull and an absolutely irresistible urge to move (streng verboten). Afterwards, I was half-extricated, by remote control, from the tunnel of wonders and left on my own for what seemed a very long time. It was probably only a couple of minutes, but time plays tricks in such environments.

Then the 'manipulateur' came back from behind the radiation shields and announced he was going to mark me. Out with a marker pen, on with the laser to get the crosshairs lined up. But after the felt-tip came the tattoo. Nothing worse than a horsefly bite, he said. But I was too trussed up to either compare or object. What was surprising was that the bits I was apprehensive about were relatively insensitive, whereas other areas, for which I had no fear, were quite high on the 'ouch' scale.

Showering temporarily forbidden whilst the ink gets absorbed into my system.

I now have strange dots in even stranger (and certainly unmentionable) places. They will allow the ballistics experts to fire their broadsides of radiation into the corners and folds where the nasties may be lurking. The fuses are lit, and it all lights up on February 14th, at 11.30.