I'm sick at home. I'm not in bed anymore, it's too hot there. There's a guy walking around the block of flats behind us with a wheelbarrow that has a squeeky wheel. And when I say a squeeky wheel, I mean the kind of squeeky wheel that will drive you insane and make you want to leap attack the squeeker from the 2nd floor window of your bedroom, armed with whatever objects are nearby (currently, a large candle and a coaster).
Additionally, I'm inviting you to vote for Fernando Torres as PFA Player of the Month. Here's the link: PFA Fans award
I'm also reading a book called The End of Mr. Y by Scarlett Thomas. It's interesting, and just the kind of story I like - though I do feel there are bits that aren't "story" enough for me, and the author is really just using the book to speak about her thoughts on the world, quantum physics, and reality. Which is ok, I guess, except that I prefer fictional books to be stories. And a book that has 3 chapters devoted to "thoughts" which read more like essays and physics papers than like fictional plot developments does tend to annoy me. I've put that aside, though, because the story is interesting (when the author gets over herself and starts telling it).
I'll put up a proper review when I'm done reading it (end of the week, for sure).