I had an e-mail overnight from an English-Spanish translation student in Argentina (hello if you're reading this), who told me that she's working on 'Brian, the Itch & the Wardrobe' "as part of a literary translation essay". Yes, as if the Falklands War wasn't enough, people in Argentina are now being forced to study my Micro Fiction. They've suffered like no other nation on Earth.

Her questions are almost as long as the story, but I'll be answering them later today in a kind of hands-across-the-water act of diplomacy which should help to foster a new sense of peace and understanding between our two countries, and ensure we avoid a punch-up at the next World Cup.

In the meantime, however, I'm off to see some students of a slightly younger age. Lisa and I have an appointment this afternoon to view the school that we're hoping Amelie will be starting at next September. I'd already booked the afternoon off work, which is unfortunate, as the way my voice was giving out by the end of this morning's clinic, I should have been phoning in sick. Not that I could muster the vocals for a phone call.

Lisa's already visited one other school nearby, but unfortunately their entrance criteria involve Amelie going there over Lisa's dead body, so we're discounting that one for the time being, and pinning our hopes on this afternoon's fact-finding mission to the school up the road. We think they'll be a class apart, and should be able to teach the other place a thing or two.