My head feels like the inside of a hiking boot that's had a donkey's hoof in it. I'm at a point somewhere beyond tired. I hate feeling like this. What fun is there to be had in feeling like a dimming 60 watt bulb.

I know who the guilty are. Bring forward the accused: four straight nights of sub-prime sleep, barking dogs at midnight, late night espresso, and the old favourite, too much chocolate.

Enough juice in the tank though, to read a fizzing thread running on one of my more literate facebook friends. It's all about Obama, who I'm unashamed to say is one of my political heroes, and what seems to be the uphill slog of selling his agenda.

Obama's agenda is solid, it's sensible, and it's eminently pragmatic, but it's a hard sell in a marketplace that's deformed in favour of antics and poorly considered sound bites. Bachman is hardly Plato, and Glen Beck is barely Bluto, but who else gets the copy these days but them.