Following two unsuccessful attempts at reheating a stale kebab in the Corby Trouser Press, I collapse on the bed and contemplate the horrible truth . . . it's finished.

Have spent the day mastering the album. Well. . . To be exact, have spent the day thumbing through Subwoofer Monthly whilst a man, who can hear a flea blink at 400 paces, attempts to squeeze the last few drops of gold out of my precious recordings.
And here it is, in my hand: Four and a half years of blood, sweat and tears reduced to a few numbers burned onto a 5" plastic disc.
What's that all about?