Middle England on LSD

I do worry about Uncle Monty. Did a few mushrooms at his hunting lodge last year and now he thinks he's fakkin' Cernunnos, the Horned One, Lord of the Wild Things. Don't know how his bird puts up with it myself.

Really loving what these housing developments in Wakefield are doing to my head. Makes me want to become an estate agent.

Psychedelic jogging is certainly bracing and very good for the constitution, but the woodland spirits I keep passing seem such a solemn bunch. Wonder what's eating them.

Mike Oldfield endlessly multitracking his pleasant and inoffensive noodling may seem innocuous enough, but it's altering the very fabric of space-time.

Here's what Hubble's been picking up.

New levels of fucking fuckedness from the hunting, shooting and fishing crowd.

Bauble from a set of Noel Edmonds themed Christmas decorations. To know that these only exist in my mind at present may bring you a sense of relief, but to exist in a mind is to nevertheless exist. Bad trip hell personified. 

The housing development just across from Wakefield Aldi is sure worth a wander while your third eye's open...