Well so much for PabloNomo. Sorry about that. I've spent the last few days half asleep, half on the toilet and 100% feeling sorry for myself. The bug I picked up on the massacre show dug itself in and invited a few friends. I have not been a well puppy for the past week - or a happy one. There's something about having your nose bunged up and your arse opened that will do that to you. Today I am feeling a little more human though still woozy from not having eaten for 24 hours in my latest attempt to starve the thing out of my system, this time aided by killer dose of loperamide hydrochloride ( C29H33ClN2O2 - or 'Imodium' to its mates, and I think I may well becoming one of them.)

As usual when in one of my Not Very Well, In And Out Of Semi-concious, Go To Bed And Wait Till Whatever Is Bugging Me Fucks Off states, I have been reading a lot, in the past couple of days I got through three of J G Ballard's early post-apocalyptic novels, and I've been watching bad Italian SF movies too, There's something weirdly dreamlike about them to start with, the bad dubbing, stilted language and plodding editing that lends them to being watched when you are half asleep. They actually start to make sense. Which is scary.