I woke up with a hangover, and whiskers drawn on my face. People spent the rest of the day telling me what I did. None of it will be repeated here. I've been uncommunicative for a few days, and the above only excuses one of them. I spent the rest of them trying to clear the house I've lived in for 14 years. I failed.
I am now in a restaurant in Heathrow's new terminal 5. The terminal is OK, except for the lack of departure boards. They've clearly thought a few things out. I hear they even do luggage, these days.
 This is a statement of fact, which is like a kind of suggestion or hint with consequences.