I've been standing at my window, watching the bombs go off all over Lanarkshire.
The horizon is alive with luminous dandelion seeds. Rockets whistle past the tower blocks, and lasers search the sky above the park.
Thunder is abroad.
I feel like Nero or Wotan. It's beautiful, but it's all too easy to imagine the real thing. Shock and awe on Babylon Road; Low Waters burning; Blantyre blown sky-high; Forgewood and Viewpark reduced to rubble.
Armaneddon. Swarm over, death.