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Sometimes when I’m having a crappy day, I go and sit in my favourite spot in the city. It’s near the centre of town but it’s so tucked away that most people don’t know it’s there. On a warm day I lie on the grass and stare into the sky, and I can almost forget what’s going on around me. Just like Clarinda waiting for Ae Fond Kiss from the sun.

It’s a still point in the eye of a storm. Usually storms blow away but this one seems to be hanging around. The Scotsman story was fine, I didn’t mind that, but the stuff that’s been written about me since then… I feel like I’m being scrutinised by everyone. Moràg keeps asking me if I’m alright. Why wouldn’t I be?

But today when I came here to my sanctuary, my querencia, there was another woman sitting on the grass eating a sandwich. And when she looked at me, I could tell she recognised me. Her eyebrows moved ever so slightly, and all the time she was eating, her eyes darted at me.

So perhaps this place isn’t as safe as I thought it was. Which is why I won’t tell anyone  where it is. Not even you, dear reader.