But this was a time for making lists, not for dreaming, and she sat at her desk and wrote down on a piece of paper, in order of their priority, the various matters which concerned her. At the top of the list she simply wrote blackmail, and under that she left a blank space. This was where ideas might be noted, and a few words were immediately scribbled in: Who could know? Then below that there was Mr Polopetsi. Mr Polopetsi himself was not a problem, but Mma Ramotswe had been moved by his description of his wealthy uncle and his cutting out of his nephew. That was an injustice, in her view, and Mma Ramotswe found it hard to ignore injustice. Under Mr Polopetsi’s name she wrote: Mean uncle—speak to him? Then there was Mokolodi, under which was written: something very odd going on. And then, finally, almost as an afterthought, she wrote: Phuti Radiphuti: Could I say something to him about Mma Makutsi? Her pencil poised at the end of the last question, she then added: Mind own business? And finally, she wrote: Find new shoes. That was simple, or at least it sounded simple; in reality the question of shoes could be a complicated one. She had been meaning for some time to buy herself a pair of shoes to replace the ones which she always wore to the office and which were becoming a bit down-at-heel. Traditionally built people could be hard on shoes, and Mma Ramotswe sometimes found it difficult to get shoes which were sufficiently well constructed. She had never gone in for fashionable shoes—unlike Mma Makutsi, with her green shoes with the sky-blue linings—but she wondered now whether she should not follow her assistant’s lead and choose shoes which were perhaps just slightly more elegant. It was a difficult decision to make, and it would require some thought, but Mma Makutsi might help her, and this would at least take her mind off her problems with Phuti Radiphuti.