Sheds
I flew home late last night from a galvanised iron barn hidden in pitch-black countryside somewhere outside Hamburg. There were potholes in the runway. I want to write about the weekend, with all its being driven around looking at things and going wow, but I haven't processed it all yet. mr_magicfingers said last night that his head was a shed, and I liked that because so is mine right now - a bit like the airport, in fact, with a huge jumbled pile of newly delivered impressions and sights piled up crazily just behind my eyes as little mental subroutines buzz around with forklifts trying to sort and stack them. More soon.
How are you doing?
How are you doing?