I've spent my morning wrestling with the thornier aspects of functionalism but instead of achieving understanding, all I seem to have achieved is a headache.
Forgot to mention the interesting extract from Tintin and the Secret of Literature published in yesterday's Guardian. After reading it, I was overcome by a sudden desire to go out and pick up all the Tintin albums I failed to buy as a child, only to be prevented by my inability to remember which of them I already own...