Dead in the water today. Aching limbs, sore throat, and one very bunged up head. Any intellectual or cultural insight will have to wait until tomorrow, or whenever this damn thing shifts.

But a moan waits for no man, ill, convalescent, or brimming with health. My poor, tired flat has popped a leak, water steadily working it's way (though not gushing, thank God) across downstair's kitchen ceiling. It's like watching a watery constellation of stars take shape. 

I've done what triage I can, nevertheless, everything is going to be in the hands of the plumber tomorrow morning. I so badly want to sell up and find somewhere else.