Here am I, chewing my fingernails up to my elbows because my BHP shares are dropping like a stone, while at the same time a badly-broken bottom molar is giving me sleepless nights until my dentist's appointment on the 8th of July.
And all this time an old mate from my days on Bougainville is laid up in hospital with a collapsed lung. There's something eerily Hopperesque about lonely days and night spend in a bare hospital room which no amount of free hospital socks of whatever colour (mine were orange!) nor all the lovely nurses (my mate just whatsapped me that lovely Kristina has been replaced by lovely Chantelle!) can ever make up for.
Hang in there, mate! You've survived Bougainville; you will survive this!
