Six o’clock. In the black of eyes closed, pre-dawn meditation I notice a Chinese character. CGI perfect, orange, with no flourish in the font. No movement, no sparkle. It morphs slightly—larger and more complex now. If the first one meant ‘house’, maybe this version is ‘country house’. I wonder, is this is an aura? No, there’s no twinkle, no shimmer. Morphs again—now a maze of pathways. Again—now taking up a quarter of my dark lids with convolutions, twists and turns. Movement, shimmer—I knew it. Mr. Migraine has arisen. I didn’t know he was Chinese.