The fascination of shooting as a sport depends almost wholly on whether you are at the right or wrong end of the gun.

Today has been a non-day.

I spent the first half of it lying in my dark, squalid room, coughing fitfully and clutching my much aching head just like something out of a scene in Dickens. Then I found an old packet of Panadeine Forte left over from my perforated eardrum adventure. Under the influence of this discovery I had a blissfully hazy golden afternoon, comprised mostly of a long nap in the sunshine that spilled through the window onto my bed. An afternoon made still more golden by a facebook chat with my lovely Erin and a heart-wrenchingly beautiful blog by the latter.
I also read a biography of Tolkien, and, whilst still in headache land, (mostly to try and escape it) I imagined a long dream of awesomeness, in which my favourite people and fictional people united to save the world from the clutches of evil. It was awesome. And childish. And foolish. And fun.

Need to buy some bubblebath.