Every day this awful confrontation of consumer flirtation, ego and the overwhelming darkness of humanitarian disasters. I spent today with myself. Opened the fridge....strawberries, spring onions and a radish. Coffee. Found walnuts. Spontaneously bought a psychedelic sofa which will no doubt be too big for my nano size flat. Arranged my new dreads and went shopping looking like Medusa and hoping to turn people to stone. Returned with geraniums and mould killer. Retail therapy is the black hole of despair and women do it more than men. Spilt bleach over a favourite dress. Drank some Ryanair vodka. Took a couple of selfies and felt selfishly vain and shallow. Nothing I do makes anything feel better, not even being a volunteer helper. Wept copiously listening to BBC radio's The Island, The Sea, The Volunteer and The Refugee. (Listen to it if you can) Drank more vodka. A million tortured souls climb into bed with me. The futility of not being fully there because the horror constantly harangues. Hangs in the air like a muted scream. Nothing diminishes the magnitude of horror - except the media. We are all drowning.