Sleep engulfs me, a cloak of shroudy dumb-ass numbness topped off with a suggestion of sinusitis increasing the sense that wakefulness is somewhat unappetising. This is a radio day, a coffee going cold on the bedside cabinet day, a never even get close to putting clothes on day.
Out in the world beyond my bed Storm Brian is battering the country. Who names these things? Why can’t we call all storms Arsehole and all hurricanes Bastard?
Splinters of dreams filter back to me in rare moments of not sleep: I am a captain of a space fleet; I’m trying to convince a gym that Wazzercise is the new trend – exercising done whilst urinating; I’m on a plane asking if there are peanuts in the salad.
This last makes me look ahead three and a half weeks to when I shall indeed be on a plane. Since returning from Ohio in March of this year I’ve rarely felt like I belong in the UK. Will California increase the pull of America? I rather suspect it will.