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Second night with out much sleep: I can feel the glass in my bones; light slamming into my optic nerve; my blood is turgidly resistant to the pumping; and squeezing out a coherent thought feels the third day of constipation…fucking hell, I can’t even begin to think Catalonia, Boris Johnson, Monarch airlines and all the rest, Monday morning and ready for work. Bring me coffee. Here comes the rain.