Croc o' Owen

I'm no well. Sore throat, aching joints, swollen eyes. I blame the lady with a cold I had a meeting with in a Finsbury Square basement room.

Today I moped around, made a few phone calls, set up my replacement laptop and started incubating some muscovy duck eggs. Busy, busy.

Owen painted the living room this week, but he was gone before I got back from London. The only sign he was even here is a crumpled sleeping bag and a pair of empty crocs. It's a bit like that scene in Repo Man... without the smoke