Mr T is a born-again sand tray believer. He made two separate pilgrimages to America to look at sand trays.

I reminded him that we'd done a small figures exercise. He seems to have forgotten the technique, let alone what we did together. So I've emailed it to him, including my narrative of what it meant.

If I do see Madame T again, I must express my hate properly.

You are the most mercenary health care professional I've ever had to work with.

You hide behind the rules when it suits you, and break the rules when it suits you. So you're not following the rules at all. You just do what you want, but you don't have the guts to admit it.

Then I will ask her some questions:

Did you ever listen to the CDs I gave you? If no, can I have them back?

What went wrong with out relationship?

What did you do to save our relationship?

What would you have done differently?

On a more positive note, I'll go through the log of our last encounter, giving her maximum benefit of the doubt.

But now we come to the "atom", as I put it.

Why I came that day was I wanted was to hear you say you love me. It's not enough to think it, or know it, or see it. I need to hear it.

If she doesn't say it then, she never will and that's closure of a kind.

Incidentally, W had a dream where Madame T kept leaving explosive devices on our doorstep.