Well, that is the question. It was to be – was it not? – that I was destined to be nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows (especially the arrows) of outrageous fortune, rather than to take arms against a sea of trouble-makers (with bows and arrows). To Die, to sleep, to say an end to the heart-ache (albeit up a bit and to the right), the pain in the neck, the stomach-ache, and the thousand or so unnatural shocks that my flesh has hitherto been heir to – ’tis a consummation devoutly to be wished. Ah, and here’s the rub (oh for some liniment), having shuffled off this mortal (?) coil who else would bear the proud man’s contumely and who would fardels bear? Perchance to dream….

As for myself, I had no compunction, rather I felt good when, having taken up the bow (from twenty-five metres), I managed to shoot the deer in the neck, heart and stomach.

Sadly, the garage door suffered irreparable damage at my hands (twice) and five arrows need new feather flights.

Apart from all that, nothing is the matter, dear.