I went to bed at a reasonably resonable hour.

I was knackered. I’d had a series of consecutive late nights, not really doing anything much — just not really realising what the time was until it was too late. I’d spent most of the weekend out on my bike. I had virtually no energy, but I managed to enjoy myself nonetheless. I was out in the open air with friends after all.

And now here I was, just lying in bed. Wide awake. For hours on end. I tried reading, but I was too tired to concentrate. Tired that is, not sleepy. If only. I tried clearing my find of all thoughts, but ended up being wide awake with nothing to think about. I tried counting sheep, but just found the whole concept comical, which never helps.

I remember seeing my clock at 05:09 and then suddenly MEEP! MEEP! MEEP! MEEP! MEEP! MEEP! Without any warning whatsoever its 08:15. A few snoozes later I force myself to get out of bed.

About twenty minutes further into the day and I’m dragging my bike out of the door and heading for work. This is going to be a very long day…

That the evil printer is out to get me.

Not only does it have the ability to stone cold stop the machine from booting, but the ink on a freshly printed photo smellls foul.

Freaky, Wierd, Unhinged, Scary, Nutbar.

This post was originally going to be about the ace bike ride Owen, Will, Dom and myself went for yesterday. I was also writing one about spending New Year with my family. I even started putting together a photopost – a collage of photos I took over the Christmas period (inspired by Smitten). Any one of these might yet become future entries on here.

But I decided to post a picture of the thing that my day has revolved around:

I seem to have achieved nothing but the consumption of most of these. But then I guess that’s what a bank holiday is for isn’t it? I have to thank the Westbrook family for these. It was an ace Christmas present.

Christmas was good wasn’t it? While we were partying in our collective living rooms, one of the biggest natural disasters in recorded history struck Asia. Put simply, they need aid, and fast. Andy Budd puts it a lot better than I do. But you can help:

And just when you think it can’t get any worse, Tsunami-related spams begin to arrive. Always make sure you donate to a reputable charity.

Its apparently 5°C outside. That means for the daily commute I’m dressed in a snow-coat, wooly hat, gloves and have the option of a scarf in my bag.

The fact that I’m riding along at ludicrous speed means that I create my own wind-chill. On the way out of the house I say to my housemate its really bloody cold today!

How wrong was I?

Stuart recently moved to New York. He’s scared to leave the apartment – because its -10C or -25C with the windchill.

Whats more, in my Alien Loves Predator email this morning, I’m told It is very, very cold today. Do not go outside.

All of a sudden I’m glad I live in slightly warmer climes.

My word, we really did look ridiculous.

[A follow-up to Fancy Dress]

We wander slowly up the tunnel. Part of me is wondering whether or not I’ll get searched again — after all, I’d already been x-rayed twice before we boarded this morning.

So this is the mighty America then. The famous J.F.K. It looks just like the airport we left, an anonymous windowless tunnel all the way into customs. It doesn’t seem as clean as Heathrow. Maybe this one’s just older.

Except for the toilets, that is. These ones are spotless, which is a marked contrast to the blocked up crap we had to endure back in good ol’ blighty.

There’s a security officer guarding a puddle on the floor and guiding people around it, while he waits for a cleaner to arrive. I guess thats just in case someone slips and sues the airport to hell and back.

Customs amuses me. Every officer at every desk seems to fit the stereotypes that we get to see on things like LAPD Blue. I get a large bearded older bloke. He clearly can’t wait for home-time to come along. They take my fingerprints and a cheap-looking camera takes a snap of my face. We’re straight through without a hitch.

Airports really are the same everywhere aren’t they? Heathrow, Geneva, Lyon, Gatwick, JFK. Big, dull and anonymous. Long tunnels plastered with adverts for things I probably won’t buy and services I’m unlikely to t use. All they are is a great big bus terminal, and they’re never the most exciting places in the world are they? Nope, they’re just a way into the city. In this case, that really is quite an exciting place to be.

[Inspired by Stuart’s First Impressions of the same place.]