I slept atrociously.
Before work I slipped a note under the door of the charity shop, to alert them to the rupture in their supply-chain, and to suggest a way to mitigate it.
The more direct route from that shop to my office rewarded me with this – the recurring motifs suggest to me that it is the property of sunny No 42, and not its shady neighbour.
Science-club brother is helping me to resolve the corruption of all my variously tailored CVs, which have chosen this week to implode.
I take this as a sign that I should not apply for jobs I'd hate, and should resume the search for awesome.