Thursday... so here we go again.

Not a good start to the day, a text from FLoH at stupid o clock alerting me to the fact that TV's Richard Hammond has got badly busted up in a drag car accident at Elvington airfield, a bit north from where I normally am in Grimsby. Critical in Leeds hospital, what is it with TV presenters at the moment, is there a cull going on? We're big fans of him both for his work on Top Gear and Brainiac, so was glad to see they've reclassified him as serious but stable, showing signs of improvement. GWS Hamster, zen grapes on their way over and don't let Clarkson do a review of medical machines that go Beep Beep Beep Beep or you'll be screwed.

"And remember, he drives 300mph cars so that you don't have to..."

Actually, I didn't mind the early text. I was already awake and reading, for some reason my much abused body clock did it's thing and had me awake beyond hope of any more rest at six am. Considering that dark scary things were the order of the drinking last night, and the power that they have to hurt the unsuspecting beer drinker, I feel in exceptionally good form this morning - really most healthy. Chest feels crummy still, tried to book a quack's appointment for that yesterday, but blessed be the NHS, got to call back on Monday as they can't access next weeks appointments yet. Blessings be upon all NHS receptionists. Yeah right.

A knock on the door a few minutes ago, it's the postie, my special delivery has arrived. Yay! My shirt for Saturday's beer festival session has arrived, although it's not quite up to the standard of the satanic orange monstrosity that I wore in March and that I love so much, it's an eyeball burner that should not so much offend the eye as gouge it out with a rusty spoon and skullfuck the viewer. That's my kind of shirt.