Back to the Early Morning Missives

7:55am, and thanks to the magic of 'ctrl and F11' I now have the internet at home again.
This did, of course, mean that I lost everything on the laptop when I restored it to 'as it was bought', but, aside from some photographs, and an abortive attempt at a dream diary back in January, it was not too much of a loss.
Well, not a loss at all actually, as I couldn't get the laptop to work at all, and was confronted with a blue screen every time I turned it on.
My experiments with internet cafes soon lost their novelty. Crammed in with (mostly) foreign students, there was always a sense of it being very un-private. Still, the cafe around the corner from me was excellent though. When I left my bag there one night they kept it for me until I returned the next day. They are obviously used to this for there was a cardboard box marked 'lost property' in the corner.
Having the internet at home means I can make quick posts in here - five and ten minute fragments. Oddly enough there didn't seem to be enough time to do this in the various cafes I used. I can now write first thing in the morning again, and late at night, times when I am actually inspired to do so, which never seemed to be when I was passing internet cafes.
And of course, it means that I can type without having to go back and edit every damn word like I had to with the old laptop that didn't pick up all my key-strokes!

8:02am now.
An hour since I woke from a dream that is already fading. Anyway, in the dream I found myself outside a music venue. It may have been the Concorde 2 on the seafront, though bore no resemblance to it at all. There were a number of people queuing wearing leather jackets painted with black metal logos. There was the sound of music coming from inside. This looked quite good, and I decided to join them in the queue. There were a couple of people in front of me whom I vaguely recognised but couldn't think from where. Should I say hello? Maybe not. I couldn't remember where I knew them from. I had a feeling that Andy was inside. I thought of what it might be like if I went to this gig on my own. A few pints and a mosh pit - I would have to stay awat from the front of the stage if I wanted peace. It seemed to be taking us a long time to get inside, and why were we waiting if there was music playing anyway? I looked up, and discovered the queue had gone. The next thing I remember I was in the reception area, drawing with pencil on a canvas. A jaw of some great shark-like creature. I tried to erase the drawing, so the lines would fade, ready for painting, but they would not fade. Ugly thick pencil marks. Then I heard music. I had forgotten there was a gig!
The music was my alarm.
I woke up.