I am, however, going stir crazy in the flat. I’ve been awake for too long and I’m making fairly jittery, bad decisions. I need to clear my head. So while I’m wondering which island would be best, I may as well go for my daily run. I have a trainer, Grant, and he’s part of that American culture of exercise where they apparently "come from yes." I think that he wakes in the morning and does a hundred push-ups, drinks a cucumber and seagrass shake with added bull semen and then goes for a quick marathon, and fuck you, Pheidippides, because that’s his warm-up. He goes every year to something called the Leadville Race and finishes it, which is apparently not what most people do, and when he really applies himself he comes in the top thirty. I suppose, if I do go to the Bahamas, I’ll have to bring him along. It seems like importing one’s own hair shirt, but needs must.