As I debated adding ice & lemon to my evening Oramorph cocktail, I zoned-out of Pharmaceutical Heaven for a brief moment, and found myself in the hope-drenched waiting room of Free Will & Autonomy. It was a very busy room. Morrissey sat perched on a bar-stool. He was crooning wistfully “A schoolgirl is denied. She said ‘How quickly will I die If I jump from the top of the parachutes?’......” Glum Britain was gearing-up for a winter of malcontents and unpaid heating bills. A small band of teenagers would be briefly saved by an ‘extra hour’ in bed soon. The rest of the room would be responsible for ensuring that hour happened magically, by methodically at first, then frantically later, checking that the gadgets we rely upon so heavily had changed ‘automatically’ overnight. And once the central heating had been adjusted along with the hot water, and the car dashboard clock had arrogantly refused to stop blinking, the first wave of crepuscular anxiety mellowed, to a deeper,...