Back in the cockpit.
It has been a week to the day since a brilliant surgeon and possible exorcist surgically removed Linda Blair's demonic and agonising grip on my soul.
What? It might have happened that way – you don't know. It certainly felt like the spawn of Beelzebub was using my nerves as harp to play an unholy tango for all manner of imp to trip the light fantastic all hours of the day and night.
This is where your soul is kept.
In any case, be it the wonders of modern medicine or holy exsufflations, I'm thrilled to be back at the keyboard surrounded by comforting cushions, one of those round-the-neck travel pillow thingies and a bunch of rather far out handwritten notes I made whilst under the influence of mind-bending pain killers.
Best keep it under wraps lest it fall into the wrong hands.