Seven hours that shook the world . . .

. . . but I slept right through it. Not to worry, our friend in the North stayed awake so I didn’t have to. Brilliant coverage of the evening’s greatest moments.

Despite what the clock says on this blog, it’s eight in the morning here in London, the 5th of November in this glorious new world, and  I’ve got to get breakfast ready for the kids.

I had the strangest dream last night about old age, memory, and moss.

A little extra: Roland tells us what happened to that pesky ballot.