Woof.

So, the last dream I remember having, I got back to London, and was living in this weird flat, with really high ceilings and sort of piss yellow walls. It was in a fucking terrible state, I can tell you, and I was greeted by this horrid stench, and blood and shit all over the walls and the floors. Then I remember I've got a dog (I haven't actually got a dog), and that the dog's been locked in here the whole time I've been gone. Then I hear this awful growl, and this blunt nosed, sinewy ball of muscle and gristle and teeth and spit leaps at my throat. Last night, I don't remember my dreams, cos I my head was full of the song Emile and I did. It is a very happy sort of an affair even though it sort of isn't.

I am off to LA again now. Peace!