Tired

There isn't one clear thought lurking in my head.

Of Saturday; wonderful to spend the evening with excellent chums, but naff music at Eddies in Brum. Some interesting people - a guy with latex elf-ears, spiked hair a la Johnny Rotten, and a quasi-military victorian long coat, a white winged fairy obviously wondering where the rave was, and a seven foot salad with transvestite ambitions - but hardly Babylon. You know you're in trouble when you hide in the arms of Depeche Mode and The Human League. Christ.

( Dream diary )

Of Sunday; Too tired, can't remember anything except cuddling up to larians and watching Sean Bean thwart the corrupt aristos of the Prince Regent's court.And spilling beer all over everything (me, that is, not Sean Bean).

Today has no definition. Kitties at the vet, head full of rubbish. Really must sleep.

Something to be depressed about.

No, not a shock - always surprised he made it this far. Expected it to be a Rock and Roll death. Hope this was a tragic accident. Despair wouldn't suit him.

Goodnight Mr Thompson.

5 minutes ago.

The sun was large and bright yellow, then it became small and white then it disappeared. I am in a house inside a cloud of ashes from horizon to horizon. It only looks like snow when it hits the window.

Spring has changed its mind.