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Is sleep death?

Maybe!

Every year, in the deepest darkest corners of Yorkshire, a bunch of weirdos descend on the peace-loving populace of Hebden Bridge. Last week, I joined them. We were there for Feral Vector, an event that Nate accurately describes as an "esoteric hippy games festival". I'm going to tell you about it, but not quite yet. If you'll forgive the disgusting peek behind my journo-curtain, I've got an overview-type piece planned and won't know which parts I need to save for that until I'm writing it.

The tales of my time served in a Ghost Court, my unrelated slaying of Goatmen, and my visit to a restaurant managed and ravished by millennia-old semi-mythical entities known only as "the boys" will have to wait. That's fine, because I also had a long conversation with someone about whether we die each time we go to sleep, which is as good an excuse as any for some supporter-ey philoso-fun.

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