The last few days have been a strain. Being back at work wasn't so bad, but had a rather nasty scene with a neighbour last night, with resultant lack of sleep. Suffice to say it's patched up now.

I spent most of the last week of my holiday composing emails to a long long list of art editors, and phoning venues for gigs. At times I think I haven't changed at all since I was a child. I beaver away frantically, like when I tried to build a boat out of plywood offcuts, aged 10 or so. I never work with others. I just don't trust their input. But I try to do absolutely everything alone, and as a result either don't finish it, or finish it and am too exhausted to take it anywhere. I don't know if that can explain why I ended up crying while watching "Iris" on Sunday night. It may well ahve just reminded me of my gran, though she never lost it that badly. Bumping into my ex in the street that morning may have helped too.

Anyway. A guy is walking down a country lane when he sees a guy shagging a donkey. Somewhat alarmed, he goes to the farm and knocks on the door, and a young guy opens it.
"I'm sorry", says the guy, "but there's a bloke in your field- I don't know if it's your father or a farm hand- fucking a donkey".

"Oh yeah", says the lad. "That's my father. Don't worry- hee-HAAAWllways does that".