Agent provocateur

'Tis me, Agent Y, proving I am resting.

After showing the house at last, for the first time, to a couple from Southwold (who indeed knew some people I knew from there long ago) I had my habitual coffee in the square, but returned exhausted. I'd had a bad night. Least said, soonest mended. Children returned from school and evaporated off to football not long later, as I lounged, idly chatting and sipping iced tea whilst smoking slim cigarillos, awaiting their return. A sumptuous meal of the finest pasta greeted them, and a chapter of Pippi Longstocking.

Meanwhile, Agent X (Mrs Pepperpot) is in fasting mode, in anticipation of her pins being removed from her foot tomorrow, in an amazing whizz of X rays and waiting lists. She will be dancing the fandango before long.

So, we agents are managing to get through our secret list, surveying the health systems of Europe. My next visit to the portals of heaven is tomorrow, where the Great one will tell me of his sleight of hand and scalpel and feats of derring do with my spine. Await the report with hushed voices and copious cups of tea.