It's 2am and I just woke from a bizarre nightmare in which Beloved Other Half, myself and dozens of others climbed up the wire fence that used to run alongside the access road to our flats in order to escape the floodwater surges from a tsunami that had run up the channel of the Thames. Among those around us were a Big Issue seller I sometimes chat to on Upper Street, Islington, called Tony, a minor character from the movie Notting Hill and a TV news reporter (identity unknown) who was broadcasting live, despite not having a camera crew, and who screamed “it's my Uncle Charlie's funeral” at the moment of greatest danger when we all thought we were going to be washed away.


Can't sleep now, so I might as well try to get some work done.