Long fingers, good pianist

Late to bed last night.
Couldn't sleep.
Self-portrait at half past midnight.
Woken by the ED at quarter to six.
The joys of on call.
Loads of referrals today - many of them crappy ones- meant I finally left work at eight thirty this evening.
Bleech.

Consequently, nothing of note to report.
Except the fact that I am vaguely amused that the name of the Jamaican drug lord at the centre of the current kafuffle in Kingston is Christopher Coke.
How apt.

Oh, running postponed for the moment while I rest my foot. Difficulty walking isn't a good sign. Seems to have improved a lot. Hopefully should be fine to get going again next week.