He did not want to see me. Prospective new patients usually do not want to see me: they perceive – quite correctly – that I shall get between them and their alcohol or drugs or food or whatever. They are usually dragged in to see me. It is then entirely up to me to gain their confidence so that they want to come back.

I don’t believe that addicts have to hit “rock bottom”, losing everything before considering changing their behaviour. Some of them die before that happens. Nor do I believe that one can frighten addicts into recovery: the fear generates further cravings. My job is to try to inspire addicts towards becoming the happiest and most fulfilled people they can be. I can do that only by being happy and fulfilled myself.

Sitting beside me in the waiting bay at Victoria Coach Station was a well-dressed man of about my age. It was only half past eight in the evening but he reeked of alcohol and he fell asleep. I woke him up when the coach arrived.
Two hours later, on my way home, walking down the high street in Canterbury, I saw and heard four girls whom I guessed were in their twenties. They were very drunk; swaying, singing and shouting as they walked towards me. As we met, one of them threw her arms wide and hugged me.
Dangerous? Well, yes – not to me but to themselves.

I’m always writing another book – except that at present I’m not. I should be (the ideas are in my head) but I’m not. I’m too caught up in the business of living from day to day. Hopefully, life will gradually settle down and I can get back to doing what I want to do as well as what I have to do.

Meg is away for the day. Of course, she has to be free to do whatever she wants. After all, I myself have always claimed that privilege, going all over the place in my work. It’s just that I like having her around.

Meg, for some reason, likes to fall asleep with her light on and with her knees bent up still supporting her book. The vision of loveliness is fine but it is the sound that is so endearing. I am content. All is well with the world.

At last: common sense has come to dermatology. What matters is not the amount of sunshine you get but the number of moles you had in the first place.

It works. I don’t understand it but it works and that is good enough for me.

I don’t see the problem. If you are given a choice, do both – each in a way that is appropriate for itself. Otherwise do nothing.

The Labour Party has got itself into a dreadful mess over equality of race, gender, sexuality, opportunity and everything else. It fails to understand that positive discrimination is discrimination just the same. It also fails to understand that a victim culture causes fresh resentment rather than more harmony. It is the job of government to protect the weak and prevent exploitation. To pretend – or try to enforce – a state in which all are equal is spiritually and socially destruction.

I fell asleep while writing in bed. I got ink on the sheet. Soap didn’t get rid of it. Nor did ink-eradicator. Bleach did. God is merciful.