Nine and a half weeks. Until I leave the house again for any period longer than 24 hours, basically. It just dawned on me today. I have a screenplay to write, several issues of comics, three lectures and a handful of other things. And it won’t stop raining. I’m trapped in this idiot country under Brexit Austerity Weather until autumn, at which point I will go to Norway and probably freeze my tits off and then go to Amsterdam and probably get rained on some more and then go to York where it will probably be sleeting and then go back to the Netherlands by which time there will be hailstones the size of a chimp’s fist and then it will be practically Xmas and I dunno flash floods and new kinds of weather that we’ll have to make up names for like Subzero Voids and Skin-Rippers and Homicide Storms and Eternal Maximum Darknesses.
My producers are going to be really surprised when this true-crime screenplay arrives as a monologue by a man in a crater talking about all the ways in which everyone he knew was murdered by the sky.
I swear this was not the online journal that was supposed to sound like night blogging. Good morning.