Don't go on holiday with Clive Anderson.

I dreamt I went on a skiing holiday with Clive Anderson. He RUINED it. He wouldn't come out on the slope (which was like an open leisure centre flume leading from the roof of the hotel to the ground, and it was in Arizona, and so were the Houses of Parliament): he just stayed in the room drinking whisky and telling me tired jokes, and I didn't get to do any skiing either and then I woke up. I'm never going on holiday with Clive Anderson again.

(Oddly I could walk in this dream. I don't know if that's massively odd, but about 75% of the time I'm incapable of walking in my dreams. The rest of the time, to be fair, I can move via gravity-defying leaps. The walking thing is a combination of lack of balance, physical exhaustion, no ability to co-ordinate my limbs and I know not what. Is that usual?)

Today I made a stripey jelly that looked fine in the bowl, then I tipped it out onto a plate and realised the layers hadn't stuck to one another at all. They spread themselves across the worktop like five dead jellyfish. It was saddening.

Then I read a 40,000 word Mythbusters fic in less than an hour, which is unheard of and technically impossible (for me). I just went back through it and read some of the words I'd missed out the first time, which took another hour and a half. I suppose that goes some way towards explaining it. I want to praise it to its author but we don't know one another and I'm shy.

All the skin on my right arm hurts when I touch it. My calf muscles hurt if I don't move them. Never mind.

Don't go on holiday with Clive Anderson.

I dreamt I went on a skiing holiday with Clive Anderson. He RUINED it. He wouldn't come out on the slope (which was like an open leisure centre flume leading from the roof of the hotel to the ground, and it was in Arizona, and so were the Houses of Parliament): he just stayed in the room drinking whisky and telling me tired jokes, and I didn't get to do any skiing either and then I woke up. I'm never going on holiday with Clive Anderson again.

(Oddly I could walk in this dream. I don't know if that's massively odd, but about 75% of the time I'm incapable of walking in my dreams. The rest of the time, to be fair, I can move via gravity-defying leaps. The walking thing is a combination of lack of balance, physical exhaustion, no ability to co-ordinate my limbs and I know not what. Is that usual?)

Today I made a stripey jelly that looked fine in the bowl, then I tipped it out onto a plate and realised the layers hadn't stuck to one another at all. They spread themselves across the worktop like five dead jellyfish. It was saddening.

Then I read a 40,000 word Mythbusters fic in less than an hour, which is unheard of and technically impossible (for me). I just went back through it and read some of the words I'd missed out the first time, which took another hour and a half. I suppose that goes some way towards explaining it. I want to praise it to its author but we don't know one another and I'm shy.

All the skin on my right arm hurts when I touch it. My calf muscles hurt if I don't move them. Never mind.