Sesha instructed her mobe to delete Sick Nick from her newstopic pool. Grow up, girl. Okay, so Sick Nick's villainies were only ever virtual, illusory; what the cyberspook perpetrated wasn't real violence, but his acts were still emblematic of actual incidents, of genuine crimes committed every day by some sicko or other somewhere out there in the world. All those awful true-life horrors her mobe filtered out when compiling her 'pape. She had no appetite for anything too harrowing; why be harrowed? Who wanted to be told and told again that you were living on the thin skin of a big balloon that was being blown up and blown up and stretched beyond its limits, and sooner or later it just had to burst? She had no time, by and large, for the non-personally-applicable; life was just too frucking short, and News Credibility Analyzer chips were still nowhere near good enough.
She'd deleted Sick Nick three times already. Doubtless she would weaken and reinstate him again in due course. She always ended up missing the frissons. Pathetic.
She asked for Lifestyle. The smartpape obliged, words dissolving into more words. The reading wasn't helping her eye ache, so she opted for audio. To her delight Sesha heard that raw silk was now officially rehabilitated following a period in the aesthetic wilderness. "So, it's bye-bye to bombazine, girls." She had always loved the look and the feel of raw silk, and she welcomed it back to her wardrobe's front line. She also made note of another couple of tips for next season: royal blue nylon housecoats and, for the evening, unshaven left armpits.
