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Hello.

Today, people kept in hospital, even after they've recovered.

We've all heard of bed blocking, but Nigeria has a variation on the theme money please or stay in

bed. Happy birthday to GRU our correspondent goes to a party for a bunch of Russian spies.

The aftermath of the wildfires in California, which have been bigger and more deadly than ever. And that precious document you clutch and mustn't lose. We have a story of passports from Turkey.

Brexit, unavoidable this week, a torrent of words, pages of proposals, lots of drama for those at the

centre of the storm and the rest of us left well wondering. But spare a thought

for Adam Fleming, our man in Brussels who who's been grappling with the nitty-gritty in the copious paperwork.

You know it's going to be 500 pages long, said the well-informed caller on Monday morning.

It was the withdrawal agreement, the treaty that seals the terms of the UK's exit from the EU.

A document I've been waiting for, speculating on, even dreaming about, since the first day of the Brexit talks in June last year.

I've carried the first draft of it in my rucksack every day. I even took it on holiday, twice.

Dog-eared, color-coded and annotated, it told the story of this whole tortuous process.

The weight for the final version was agony.

Pain which peaked at the start of this week,

with three days of will they won't they

as first the negotiating teams and then the

cabinet struggled to agree it. So great was the anticipation that when some

members of the EU's Brexit task force were seen carrying sealed cardboard boxes,

we journalists pounced on them as if it was a new Harry Potter.

So desperate were we for clues that I chased the EU's deputy negotiator, Sabina Vaiand, through an underground station and up an escalator shouting questions the whole way.

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