Last night’s bout of insomnia spawned some accidental anglophilia. I’d picked up a page-turner by Peter S. Beagle called “Tamsin“. I tore through this tale…of an American teen, Jenny, who is forced to leave her NYC life behind when her mom marries a brit. The new family moves to Dorset, to manage a farm. Stourhead Farm is, naturally, haunted…by the ghost of the founder’s daughter. She befriends Jenny. Much wackiness ensues. Finished that around midnight and discovered I was wide awake. Finding myself in the English manor mindset, I popped in our latest Netflix arrival…”Gosford Park“. To my surprise I was never in danger of nodding off (as I am wont to do nearly anywhere but our bed, especially during movies). I thoroughly enjoyed all 138 minutes, but was shocked to find I was still quite awake. Turned to another compulsion/distraction for solace. No wonder my neck has been bothering me so much lately…not exactly the most ergonomic home office setup. I digress. Got online to read the journal of one of my favorite brits, Neil Gaiman. Turns out he’s just done an excellent interview with someone from Suicide Girls (for those of you with jobs, this is not quite work-safe), of all places. They’ve also got an interview up with another master of the macabre, Mike Mignola. Whadya know. Must have finally gotten to sleep around four, with the little man waking me just a few short hours later. Considered taking tea this morning, but went with the more all-American morning brew. And it’s the only reason I’m at all coherent.