It's approaching three and I'm just finishing Freelance for tomorrow. Mogwai Fear Satan glides to a halt, suitably heavy with whatever symbolism these small hours hold. And then, in my semi-random selection of MP3's, the bloody Inspiral Carpets start up. My speakers tell me what it feels to be lonely. And I stick up two fingers at it, as I don't feel lonely at all.

Good news: Got half of Regan's samples for Cassandra. This means that it should be able to be put together shortly. I could debut at E3 and wave it in the face of 3D Realms while shouting "Duke Nukem Poo-poo-face" or similar.

Also I realise I haven't actually hyped the new HIT at Nextcomics in this column yet. So I'll do so before crawling off to bed. I've got things to say about it, but it can wait until I put together the collected ash-can for Bristol (Working title: The HIT Parade. Like, obviously) which, in the best comics collected-edition fashion, will include far too much suplementary material.

Extraordinarly lovely art by one Mr A Dale of Scot-er-land. Words by Mr K Gillen of Eng-er-land.

Go see.