Hook finds a desk, logs on and turns off his out of office assistant to find over a hundred emails. As he scythes through them deleting anything from Prof-SC, Equalities, Payroll, and all the other stuff that keeps the world turning, the post boy gives him an envelope with his name on it: his new ID, photo taken just days ago, the smooth face cleaner, but not exactly happier.
He’s contemplating nipping out to the pub when he realises he didn’t ask Karen about Byron. This makes him feel bad. Hook snaps his fingers: he knows what he needs.
“Give me Horse,” he mutters to himself. “I must have Horse.”
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