We couldn’t get up this morning. A whole weekend of editorial work and no exercise stopped me sleeping. Last night it was 3am almost and I was still sitting up in bed watching The Prisoner DVDs. Eventually I slept, woke up twice with nightmares. One of them was too nasty to remember; the other was a kind of assassination vendetta plot type thing set in an attic in Bloomsbury. I woke up whimpering to my boyfriend, “They sent three of you out…with swords…AND ONLY THE OTHER TWO CAME BACK!AND THEY SAID YOU WERE…DEAD!!!“, like some British b-movie actress. Today coffee cups are piling up in the sink and everything takes on a sinister aspect: live cushions and pulsing lights. I go ebay to look at vintage Hornsea china. There is a lot of it, but none comes close to my ‘Springtime’ butter dish. Listen exclusively to delicate sounds: Linstrom and Prins Thomas; this latest Chicago Underground Duo, which is super arctic and tumbly and ace; Nathan Fake; anything that sounds like snow, stick it on. Steve Hanson sends me the latest Fold, which is real nice: PKD, Faust, Ashtray Navigations. Sign up. I’m going swimming.