I am sat in your chair and listening to Stevie Wonder and Radiohead. Where are you?

In between work, waiting for the electricians to come back from Hitchin with their big, fat capacitors. I haven't been capable of writing anything for a while, Dad's death is still too close in my mind and I just don't want to go there right now. But if I don't purge I'm going to explode.

Peter is here in the office. It's ten past midnight. I've tried to shut *that* part of my head down for the rest of the year, but I can't stop thinking. I'm listening to Nice Dream by Radiohead. My shoes are off and I can feel the air on my feet as I wiggle them in time to the music. It feels good. I want to cry, I want to break down in tears in front of everyone. I want them all to know, I want to tell them everything, but I don't think they will understand. I mean, I don't think I would.

I want to stop, I do. But I don't really want to, if I'm honest.

Oh High and Dry is just so beautiful. I'd like to make love whilst it was playing in the background. And come to Just.