Anyway, I found myself awake quite early this morning, and feeling perky-ish, so I did the torture session early. I often see people looking at me as I toil away, with a sort of 'Ahhh, bless...' expression. Death to them. Yet again, I suppose it's better than having abuse hurled.
I'm trying to propel myself back out to see another gallery or something. I'm so nearly finished that GIRLY strip, too. It is lame, but I think it's a big improvement on the last one I did from someone else's script.
I should also hang around to see how R is getting on, and maybe go with her to run the dogs out back. (She's feeling low as it looks like one of the rabbits may not be long for this world.)
Weird dream: A deserted recording/radio studio: Julian Barratt is propped up against a wall, rolled up in a carpet, with just his head peeping out. It's my job to feed him this yellow gruel and check up on him every now and then. (I find JB very fanciable, minus the moustache, but this was a totally un-erotic dream , It was kind of distasteful drudgery.) I don't think he could speak or anything; he was basically just this head that had to be taken care of. I kept thinking, as is my wont. 'Why me?'