For reasons I don’t want to go in to now, I was sitting on a bench in the middle of Coventry eating a foot-long Subway sandwich. At the start of the, er, process I had a large, rather loose, sticking plaster on my thumb. By the time I’d finished the sub, I noticed that the plaster had gone. It took me a second or two to realise that I’d eaten my own plaster, incorporated, somehow, into the sandwich. I found this rather distressing. Usually, when I’m on one of my downward swings, I look for some marker that indicates that I’ve reached the lowest point. Truly, I hope that this is it.