I do remember waking up at about 02:45 and thinking that I’d better wander off down the corridor in a minute once I gather my wits (which doesn’t take me too long these days, it has to be said). But the next thing that I remember was that it was 06:45. I could in theory have managed to hang on in bed until the alarm went off before heeding the call but that would have made me uncomfortable, so I succumbed. But I can’t think of the last time that I didn’t have to go off to ride the porcelain horse during the middle of the night.

It does have its downside though, meaning that I don’t remember much of what happened during the night … "for which we all are grateful" – ed … But from what I do remember, all of my 3D characters had decided to go on a cruise together, with me of course, and we all occupied a part of a deck to ourselves (I haven’t created THAT many characters, have I?) privately, with no other person admitted. However, a couple of other people insisted upon coming onto the deck and we had to keep on shepherding them off again (strangely reminiscent of an occasion at, of all places, Alvaston Hall – where we were the other night – back in the 1970s). although one or two people were allowed on. It was after one of these incidents that we noticed that one of our jars of Marmite (horrible stuff!) had been opened and someone had helped themselves to some of the contents. I couldn’t make out whether it was one of these visitors, or one of my cheeky 3D characters.
Later on, after my awakening at 02:45, I found myself with Cécile in North Staffordshire, somewhere in the suburbs of Stoke on Trent, with a third person, whom we were looking after, just as we looked after Marianne right at the very beginning of her illness. It was a cold, wet, miserable, grey, icy, slushy, sleety day and we were out there looking at the roads and discussing the North Staffordshire weather. Cécile had started to take skiing lessons and had had three while we had been together. But we had broken up. One of the things that we mentioned was about skiing down the banks (of which there are plenty) in Stoke on Trent and if the weather deteriorated any more we’d be well able to do that. Cécile mentioned that even though we were no longer together, she had been keeping up the skiing lessons and had had a good nine months-worth, and so next time that there was a really heavy fall of snow, she would get out her skis and come with me. She challenged me to a ski race. I had to go out and fetch myself some lunch and I knew that there was a fish and chip shop halfway down the hill, turn left at the roundabout by the petrol station and garage and it’s just behind the garage. Off I set down the hill, maybe going a little faster than I ought, given the conditions. At the roundabout, I put my foot on the brakes, which caused the car to slide round on the ice but I was in full control and ended up facing the right way up the right street. Reaching the chip shop, I found that it was one of those places whose name shall never be mentioned in anything that I ever write and which was agreed by a British High Court Judge to be inter alia exploiters of children. I won’t ever set a foot in the place (not even on my night-time rambles, evidently) so I carried on driving. I knew that in one direction there was a chippy about 15 minutes away but that was too far for me to go, and so I gambled on finding one sooner in the opposite direction. I ended up around the back of Hanley (or what passed for Hanley last night) in an area where they had done loads and loads of demolition. There were cars parked all over the sides of the roads and all over the waste land, and a young female traffic warden was out there checking car licences and parking tickets. With nowhere to park, I had to go further afield to find a chippy. I turned left at a crossroads near here and on the corner diagonally opposite was an old-fashioned bakers that made sandwiches. There were about 50 or so people queueing up outside this sandwich place for their lunch, but anyone who wanted just bread or a pie or anything ready-made was going in ahead of the sandwich queue. At the end of the road into which I had turned was a really big café with all old Victorian wooden shop-front windows in the art-deco style and painted a mid-brown. I remember saying to myself what a wonderful place it seemed to be, and that next time I come by here with someone, I’ll have to bring them here and check it out. And so I continued on my way looking for my chippy.

Meanwhile, I continued on my way looking for the porcelain horse and then after another half-hour, I was downstairs eating my new supply of home-made muesli and waiting for the nurse.

And here, I made a startling discovery that may well have resolved the hated issue of the daily question of twice-daily injections. Liz bought a couple of smaller boxes of the injections to take me up to Tuesday night because I had it firmly fixed in my head that there were two days’ worth of injections in each box. Opening the first one, I discovered that there is only one day’s supply.

I therefore went out to the pharmacie at les Ancizes (yes, a day out for me!) to buy some more but … they had none. Not to worry – I went on to the pharmacie at St Georges de Mons to try my luck there but … they likewise had none. The next stop on my route was Manzat but to be frank, I’m badgered if I’m going all the way there. On the spot, I took an executive decision (the definition of an executive decision is that if it goes wrong, the person who made the decision is executed) that I would stop these senseless injections then and there. And once the final supplies have been used, that will be that and I can go back to having a normal life. In fact, one of the reasons why I’m still at Liz and Terry’s is all down to these daily injections. It’s not practical for me to have these twice-daily visits round at my abode.

While I was at St Georges, I went round to the Super-U and stocked up with supplies.Bags of crisps, some chocolate, some vegan breakfast-biscuits and some soya desserts. If I survive the operation I’ll be in hospital for quite a while and we all know that the food in there is dreadful. I’ve no intention of starving myself to death while I’m there, and I intend to enjoy myself as much as I can while I am there.

We did have an exciting drive, groping through the fog to Les Ancizes and St Georges. As I was passing underneath the Viaduc des Fades going up the hill towards Les Ancizes, I met a light-brown Hyundai people-carrier coming down towards the barrage. On the way back, at exactly the same spot I met … a light-brown Hyundai people-carrier. Exactly the same model of vehicle, exactly the same colour, and it may well have been exactly the same vehicle. Who knows? It wouldn’t surprise me.

Back here after lunch I had a pile of notes from my dictaphone to download and type up, which seemed to take me hours and hours. And now that I’ve had tea, I’m off to have an early night. Now that the dictaphone is up to date, I have three really long and important letters to write tomorrow and they must be finished.

But with the recent, regular appearances of many of the usual suspects and places during my nocturnal rambles, we are now starting to see my 3D characters now not only coming along, and also coming to life as well. This is probably the most bizarre thing about all of this sequence of voyages.

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