the Wild Ass Stamps o'er his Head

Or, in my case, in my head. Repeatedly. A minor dose of car-sickness yesterday turned into a headache-with-nausea, which tried very, very hard to turn into a migraine, only I foiled its dastardly plan with drugs and going to bed early. My apologies to everyone I avoided socialising with last night, or, in fact, everyone I have growled at repeatedly over the last two days. Grumpy, I am. Headache with full benefit of hangover and hangunder both. There's no justice. Damned hormones.

Owing to above, I haven't achieved much lately. Minor achievements have included:

• Grabbing readers' reports on my book by the scruff of their contradictory little necks and damned well forcing them to make sense. The Nice Supervisor approves, so have shunted the Outline Of Attack to the press for their go-ahead, after which it's that jolly old grindstone for me, I can tell you.
• Reading another third of The Iron Council, which is still daunting me, but very much repays self-flagellation.
• Borrowing jo(ty)'s copy of Gaiman's Black Orchid and reading it voraciously in one sitting. It's a strange, haunting, beautifully-drawn, sad, sad, sad piece of graphic narrative. Count me as one drooling fangirl of that Dave McKean (if I wasn't already from the Sandman covers, which I was).
• In similar vein, finally finishing From Hell. This annoyed me all the way through because the artwork is, as far as I'm concerned, crappy, and, while the story was way cool, the film, which I saw ages ago, more or less covered the ground, and was visually sumptuous in a way the graphic novel simply isn't. (And, no, I'm not talking about Johnny Depp. Or not just talking about Johnny Depp, at any rate).
• Watching the Evil Landlord install handles, bolts and other miscellaneous hardware in jo&stv's new shop, which is looking tres cool, and which opens on Friday.
• Madly re-dying my hair with copious quantities of henna, which has actually achieved the dark red colour I wanted all along, but which can't be that striking as no-one has actually noticed. Must install neon signpost or something. Otherwise, next time it's blue.
• About two thousand words of assorted writing.

Actually, I've achieved more than I thought, looking at that lot. The Army of Reconstruction, meanwhile, are inching their way around the garage with plaster, one wall per day, with a ritual slowness I assume is religion, or something. Current Lawn Extermination Project: pile of planks on front lawn, destroying the bit that escaped the gravel pile; new rubble pile on outside lawn, destroying the bit the sand pile didn't get. The roof sheets arrived today, but the minions of the Army have actually, in a hitherto unsuspected moment of consideration, piled them on the concrete floor of the garage. Some of said minions may actually escape having their entrails wrapped around a tree when I rise in ritual druidic rage at the end of this bloody project.