Breakout

During these days of self-imposed solitude, I have written 8766 words and come to the conclusion that solitary confinement, for me, in a prison would not be the punishment that states across the world presume it to be.

A year of solitary confinement would be the ultimate retreat. A lot of serious writers pay huge amounts of money to go away to monasteries on retreat, but prison, well that is within the reach of even the poorest of aspiring writers, what with the tax payer footing the bill and all.

***
I have to pack my bags now, I leave tomorrow, and I am a little worried. No insurance company would insure my health for this trip -- I am a bad risk. Medical treatment in Germany is prohibitively expensive. I feel healthy at the moment but am worried by the inexplicable loss of two kilograms over the past couple of weeks. Anyway, I will be able to relax once I get to England, where, should I suffer from any health mishap, the NHS will see me right.

***
"I'm going to Europe, is that OK?" I asked my neurologist back in May before I booked the tickets.

"Yes, you must live your life normally," he said.

"I can't get health insurance unless you sign this form to say that in your opinion I will not get ill."

"I can't sign that, your condition is unpredictable..."

"Well, were I living my life normally, I would go away with health insurance," I said. The neurologist looked pained. "I guess I'll go without insurance and hope for the best." I left the office. It is all very well for the doctor to be all up-beat with his "just live your life normally", but normality is not always possible.

***
Toby and Nick are already in Germany, Toby has ridden a horse and been to kindergarten with his cousin, she probably took him as her show-and-tell, a specimen from Down Under.