In the middle of last week I tipped over from a state of mild fearfulness about the global economy to one of wild panic over what is to become of us.
On Wednesday, I became host to all sorts of crazy worries – big, unmanageable ones as well as little, stupid ones. I worried about there being anarchy on the streets of London – while at the same time fretting over whether I should have painted the boxroom cream rather than white.
This is the sort of mixed-up mental state
I am familiar with from bouts of wakefulness at three in the morning. Never before have I known it at three in the afternoon.
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