<div class="floatleft"><div align="center">(https://pbs.twimg.com/media/EDk3Aq4XUAAbMSK.jpg)<br/></div><div align="center"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Berlin Sans FB;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 11pt;"> Taffy Silk<br/>‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾  </span></span></div></div><br/>I blink at the barrage of names, my eyes continuing to widen as the list continues to grow. It may be more people than I know in total. Peter suggests that I should be added, I think, but I may not be sure.<br/><br/>"I have a feeling that Miss J knows exactly where I've been, Peter, what I've been up to, and quite probably what I had for breakfast. Between you and me, I think she's inserted a tracking chip in me."<br/><br/>Then there are more names - Steffy's involved? well, plausible, I guess - and many others. And then it's done, and there's a dinner invitation. As in, we've been invited to dinner. Finally something I am certain that Peter can manage, although Ari chips in.<br/><br/>"Ooh good, I'm perfectly awak..."<br/><br/>At which point I drop off, leaning on the boss' shoulder. For ten seconds anyway, before sitting up.<br/><br/>"I'm awake! I'm perfectly fine! Somebody said something about food, I'm sure of it. I have a keen ear for important details like that."<br/><br/>I smile politely and demurely at Ari's politeness about food.<br/><br/>"Allergies? Walnuts, something that a squirrel has already eaten. Horrid things. Tea I would like to think they do, and a shawl? Woollen or silk thing to wrap around my shoulders?"<br/><br/>Puzzling thing to order in a restaurant. I wonder if it's fried or boiled.