OK, so they found someone with a live Hand Grenade at Gatwick yesterday so perhaps I was being a bit matter of fact about it all. They caught him though, not "a grenade went off" all over the papers today. Which is good. Anyway, the bread was wonderful and that's all that I really care about out in my own little world. Crispy crust and a smooth textured tasty middle. Perfection in a yeasty way.

And I got through the evening without feeling like I was due to hurl, so I can safely blame the thing on tv about eye surgery rather than the non-taking of tablet for that one. Which is also good.

I did have a very odd and in some ways nasty dream though. It started off in the usual just plain bizarre way - I was on tv as a guest on Never Mind The Buzzcocks along with Ely from the Llamasoft forums (who I have yet to meet in Real Life) and we were both wearing frocks, which no-one thought strange at all. We were such a success that they offered us a long term contract to appear all the time. Upon arriving home to tell Joan of this news I was rather surprised to find a letter from her Dad in the post. Then when she said she had been speaking to him on the phone whenever I was out I was more than a little concerned for her well-being. What with him having died last year and all that. Turned out it was her sister Helen impersonating him to try and make Joan feel better, even going as far as to send stuff to friends in Newcastle to make sure it had the right postmark on when we got it. I woke myself up at that point when I was shouting at her on the phone to make her stop. Very unsettling.

Today I have given in to Coke rather than going with my original plan to get Pepsi in at Bury Road P&R. Perhaps they'll get a shot at Martlesham later in the year. Oh well, so long as the punters are happy...

Only a couple more hours now and I can get out of here for a week. Not that I'm keen to be on holiday you understand. More like desperate! I just want to relax and enjoy my shoes.