I've got cookies and Irn Bru for the train, an Alan Moore graphic novel to read, and redlines to work on. I'll grab e-mail through my futurephone but can't guarantee any more than that.
While I'm gone, tell me what weird and wonderful things you want from the fat man's sack o'dreams. His elven minions slave away at the Polar thought-forges, where mind becomes matter. Impossible things their specialty. The one thing they don't make is mundanity. What secret desires are they tapping into to make your present?