I’m sensitive, I think, to weather-driven changes in air pressure, perhaps more so since the op. This can result in such a dramatic swing from listful to listless, that I question my perception of reality, which can manifest as impishness.

Since the flood, I’ve been decanted into another office, sharing with a couple of good colleagues. This morning, one asked the other her opinion on an immunofluorescence image. After much humming and ahhing between the two of them, I looked over at the lurid speckled green thing, thought how scientists are, unwittingly, occasionally better artists than Andy Warhol, and butted in by pronouncing,

“I will now offer an opinion in the style of Liam Gallagher ;

……..* It’s sheeeeeiiiiiiiiiiiiiitttte!!*”

They just looked at me. Silent and expressionless.

Glastonbury hadn’t sold out. I should have gone. I’m wasted round here.