"The train of the conversation is powering along, toot toot, covering the ground, and then all of a sudden it's jerked to a shuddering halt because someone in carriage four's pulled the emergency brake. So everyone goes running back to carriage four and mill around in confusion, but it turns out it's just that Anthony brat again, and now he's standing there with his hands behind his back looking smugly innocent, and it takes forever to get the train moving again.

"In short, Anthony, the world would be a much more serene, idyllic, smooth, seamless place if you just didn't talk."


Summary of the week that was: I threw up. Only once; although Anfy has been telling people that I've been awash in a sea of... yes, well, anyway. Small stomach bug.


Saturday night, coming back from Jojo's place, we had to pause crossing the road for a standard souped-up wog-mobile (I am so politically correct, go me) to growl past. Girl in passenger seat was having a screaming, flailing fight with the driver. With the windows open (it was a nice night).

First thought: Should we try and help her?
Second thought: WTF?
Third thought: The car is stopped at the traffic lights. If she wanted to get out she could fucking get out.

Somewhat later, I came up with the fourth and fifth thoughts: What sort of idiot distracts the driver of the car she's in like that? And honestly, why the fuck do you even get in a car with a guy who makes you have arguments like that? (That "make" not being a "force you" or even a "cause you" but more of a "whose nature is in such a way aligned with your own that this will be the natural result".)


I suddenly realised there's two weeks to go. Well fuck. There's nothing for it. I'm going to have to Make A List.