While being self-employed is obviously a. a bed of roses and b. a bowl of cherries, in order to take a week off, you have to do all the work for that week in advance. Or rather, if you are obsessively contientious, you do it all in advance. For this reason, in anticipation of eight days spent mostly scratching my back-side in the land of the free, I am trying to get a lot done. I realised this afternoon that I hadn't spent any time with an actual human being since last Thursday evening (going to the shop doesn't count, going to the garage doesn't count, going to Allied Carpets doesn't count).
Assume the Edvard Munch "Scream" position, I think I might be going mad. Pretty soon, I'll be like Cartilage Head, dancing a Cab Calloway routine of silent despair.