Mr Furlong and I are both up. It’s the middle of the night!
We couldn’t sleep.
The TV is on. Mr Furlong is working out how to use a little machine that interprets languages – it’s old-fashioned and frustratingly difficult to figure out.
I’m updating our Tom Tom Sat Nav via my computer.
On the TV, they are rescuing survivors and finding dead bodies in the Taiwanese earthquake.
They are rescuing survivors and finding dead bodies in the waters off Greece.
The world is panicking about nuclear war from a rogue North Korea.
In our area here in the North West, the weather is going to be foul.
There are new dramas coming up on TV that show extreme violence.
Daesh are beheading people.
David Cameron is still making an idiot of himself, thinking he can negotiate with our masters, the EU.
We’ve heard nothing uplifting in an hour.
And soon we are going to bed again, to sleep, perchance to dream.
But we won’t be worrying much about anything that we’ve been drip-fed repeatedly on TV tonight, and indeed day after day, after day – we see SO much, we’ve been brutalised!