My colleague CS asked me what I was scribbling into a corner of my notebook. “My dream for Belle”, I replied.

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In my highland hotel I bumped into a greying EMc, wearing wonky glasses. He reading stories with his wife to a toddler girl and a 6 year-old boy whose body parts were dropping off him. TPR was joining us, but had to cross the snowy mountain first.

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Whichever route we took we always ended up somewhere on the Bristol Road South in Birmingham.