Ever have one of those nights where you toss and turn in a semi-wakeful state trying to remember the name of the female co-creator of Swamp Thing, only to realise, upon waking, that she doesn't exist?
Fuck you, delusional sleep deprived brain, fuck you!
Anyway, in the moments when I was actually asleep last night, I remember dreaming that I met Stan Lee on Kingsland Road in Hackney. He was wearing an Arsenal jacket and couldn't stop to talk to me because he was in a rush to get to Marvel. I insisted that I must take a photo of the two of us together, but couldn't find my camera. There ensued a mad, panicky run up and down the High Street, with me looking everywhere for my camera. When I eventually found it, (chained to some railings), Stan had gone.
Unsurprisingly then, I feel like crap this morning. I have to go and meet my partner and our child outside the swimming baths in a mo. From there we will be going to check out Carter's Steam Fair in Clissold Park. I'll then be returning home to watch England v Germany in The World Cup and read reprints of The Doom Patrol...
Lord only knows what nightmares this will give me.
That is all, chums. That is all.