Over a century ago, the Victorians used to shut away the mad, the halt and the lame (not to mention those who were merely inconvenient) in loony bins that were little more than particularly unpleasant prisons. The most famous of these was the Bethlehem Royal Hospital, colloquially known as "Bedlam"; this name has passed into the language.
These days, we have similar problems with those with mental illness and severe disabilities; services are under-funded, hospital places scarce and our prisons all to full of those who should not be there. What are we to do with these unfortunates?
Fuck knows, but I can tell you this: in Brixton, they all work in Woolworths.
Anyway, I shouldn't expect an awful lot from me: I have bought Iain M Banks' new Culture novel, Matter, and shall be reading that. Oh, and it's my little brother's eighteenth birthday on Sunday so I shall be taking a rare trip to my home town of Tonbridge, Kent.
But I have got a replacement for my mobile though: same number, for those who might need to get hold of me...