  My brain is like illuminous green silly putty, with added carpet fluff and household lint from one too many droppages. It wouldn't all fit in the car. I lost half a table during packing. I lost half my will to live on the M1. And tell me this. How is it at all interesting to drive in silence for 8 hours, 2 days straight? Surely a little light radio/cd entertainment wouldn't have gone a miss? More later, when I can say things other than fklsr'jgiptogh j'gbklb;gjbgfiphdeio;m ,.pfiosjg io[etshjonvsdouf[qwfg'eg/s (pronounced "yikes") 
