Who knows what dreams may come?

I had a terrifying dream at about 5 this morning involving a cat with tentacles, where I yelped "help!" and woke my wife up. Then an hour or so later we all got up and rushed to get the ferry to the Olympic Peninsula.

I hadn’t eaten so I was grumpy until 11. The girls asked for food continually from the time they left the Airbnb (having declined further breakfast) until 4; they had pancakes, eggs, bacon, pizza, crackers, chocolate cookies and ice cream, and still wanted more to eat when we got back.

In between feeding the girls we went to a playground where they made some new friends, visited the enormous Camperdown elm in Port Gamble, and bought more cider. We haven’t been over to Port Gamble since my month off last year – nigh on six months – and I’d missed it. Hard to get decent espresso on that side of the water though.

After the girls went to bed tonight we streamed Encanto to see what the fuss was about. Although the impact was a little diluted by having heard the soundtrack on repeat for the last two weeks, I still found myself welling up near the end. It’s beautifully made, but the hands of the characters still occupy the uncanny valley, like Yul Brynner’s fingers in the original Westworld.

To bed now: wiring and homeless outreach and Blood Bowl tomorrow, so many things to live for. Hopefully no more terrifying dreams …

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