I feel like a kid on Christmas day. And like a wife watching her husband loosing his purpose in life. And like overworked Andrea that still has to write some reports before everything backfires. One hour and 25 minutes to go. Three reports to write. Or was it four? Plato is waiting in the naughty corner after not being allowed in bed. Little does he know, or does he, that his post as a servicedog is going to be occupied by Memo in just one hour and 23 minutes.