Some time or other I have read that ↑Captain Sir Richard Francis Burton at his home in Trieste had twelve wooden desks. On each desk the material of one particular book project he was working on, was stacked. Not that I dare to compare my humble self to the immortal RFB—god forbid—, but yesterday I cleaned up the mess I call my office and found that currently there are six articles I am writing, or am trying to write. In consequence I am in dire need of method and order, ↵as Hercule Poirot would put it. Folders on the harddrive are all very well, but somehow I felt the urge for something haptic …