Sundays are for landing on a mysterious planet. At first, the surface seems barren, a dusty sheet of paper stretching towards the grey horizon. Does anything live here? Could anything live here? Is there anything here which can inform how I’m supposed to feel about it all? The emptiness is a feeling, but one can only deploy the world bleak so many times before starting to read it as ble-ack just to try and avoid dying of boredom. Then, the ground around you opens up. A great dark space into which you slide. Everything goes cold, dark, and wet. Suddenly, you’re back among the stars in a flurry of movement. Adrian Edmondson’s planet-sized head stares at you, licking its lips to get rid of leftover spittle. Well, there’s two of you in the bleakness now.
