So I was reading Richard II this afternoon.

And I fell asleep. For four hours.

Afternoon = gone.
Progress on Shakespeare = none.
Sam = defeated by cold room and solace of comfy bed.

Seriously, couldn't there be a couch in our flat? And maybe a warm room within which to put said couch? Or, at the very least, just a warm room?

Little things like these make me miss home a lot.