Art all the way down

Wackos everywhere, a plague of madness. In fact, very few, very few of us here are actually mentally ill. I'm not saying you're not mentally ill, for all I know, you're crazy as a loon. But that's not why you're here. That's not why you're here. That's not why you're here! You're here because of the system.

I scrape ice off the windscreen - a strangely satisfying procedure - and head across the bridge. The country is sparkling gloriously.

First order of the day is to relight the fire. And then, to work. I’m due back in Pennsylvania in January, and though we normally don’t book travel this much in advance, I’ve found a special offer that I can’t resist - business class flight for less than the usual economy.

There are two drawbacks: it leaves from Inverness and there’s a 20 hour layover at Heathrow on the way out. I can make a virtue if both by visiting my friends up north before leaving and my mother from Heathrow. Sweet.

I pen the sheep in preparation for tomorrow’s slaughter. One of them is too skittery, but they’re all contained. The young tup jumps and head butts the fence, breaking the top spar, but doesn’t escape. It could be lively tomorrow with just me and Ivan.

After dark I watch 12 Monkeys for the first time ever. It’s good. So good that I watch the “making of” feature that’s also on the dvd. From where I got today’s blip. A T-shirt about art from a documentary about the making of a Hollywood art house film about time travel, love, insanity, and redemption. Meta.