Seb wonders whether, in a previous life, I killed Gandhi. If not, why would a little mole on my (remaining) ankle have turned out to be a melanoma? And because it requires further excision and there’s hardly any skin covering the ankle, it’ll need a skin graft from my thigh. And because I’ll have to keep weight off my leg until it’s healed, and hopping on a prosthetic leg really isn’t an option, I’ll essentially be bed-ridden all over the Easter holidays. Which was not the plan at all. It doesn’t seem fair, he notes, because if it had been on my other ankle, I’d have nothing to worry about as it would have long since been incinerated with the rest of the leg. And I guess he has a point.