In which I stop traffic.

I wish to relate, dear reader, the events of some nights ago which characterise nicely that emotional roller-coaster I will charitably call 'my life'. It was a cold and windy night. I say this not just as a cliched story opener, but because it fucking was, O.K.? There was one of those southerly winds you get here that both chill you to your giblets¹ and remind you that winter is a-comin'. Did my poor mitten-less hands freeze solid, I hear you ask in a tone con notating the deepest of concern? While I am touched by your evident worry, dear reader, it is my happy charge to inform you that no, they did not. I have, in short, been re-united with my mittens, and in the subsequent reveling I have, I am ashamed to admit, failed to inform you, my fellow mourners, of this happy news. How did this joyous event take place? Well, it all started with a conversation with one Adriana Siddle². Knowing me as well as she does, dear reader, allowed her to ask of me question of such startling simplicity and breathtaking brilliance³ as to warrant an appreciative "ah" from you, the audience⁴. Whilst I was wallowing in some characteristic and well-deserved self pity, I was asked the following (and brace yourselves): "Have you ..... checked the pockets of all your jackets?". I had not done this. As a result of so doing, however, I have been united once again with my mittens of awesomeness +3.

Anyways, I was walking home on the night in question with a satisfied strut and a hankering for fish and chips. It was while I was closing in on the noble fried-fishmongers that a curious thing happened. I was bitterly disappointed whilst strutting across the zebra-crossing opposite to realise that the day was what can only be described as 'a monday'. This is important in as much as the fish and chips shop on Aro Street is closed on Monday. My mood rapidly improved, however, upon realising that the mitten-accentuating strut I adopt whilst sporting these lovelies had finally paid off. A driver who had stopped to let me pass casually leaned out the window so as to say (and this seemed to be the only possible explanation) something along the lines of "what fine mittens you have, sir! Wherever can such items of apparel be purchased (indeed, I had not thought such wonders possible in this world)?". Once again, however, I was both forced to taste bitter disappointment and consult this chart. I had mis attributed the cause for this arse's communication with me to be my mittens, when I should instead have linked it with that kind of second-long pause you only really get from realising that a fish and chips shop is closed. What he actually said was the following: "Hey, mate, if you're going to cross a road fucking cross it, alright? Don't fuck about". Such situations piss me off mightily. What the fuck is one to do? In the time it takes for you to even realise what has been said, the bastard is already a few hundred metres away from you and your response of "I know you are, but what am I?" can no longer avail you of anything. Curiously, but two nights before my office-mate had a cigarette stolen from his mouth in similar circumstances when an expert kick-boxer sucker-punched him in the face, took it and walked off. We have since concluded that the only adequate answer to such circumstances is to constantly carry a loaded gun⁵. Even Michael Moore could not possibly argue with this clear and present need.

In the mean-time I must satisfy myself with the knowledge that he caused himself more of a delay in yelling at me than I did. Just so you all know where I'm at. With my life.

¹I am now crossing the word 'giblet' off of my Stuff to use in a sentence - Urgent!! list.

²It needs to be pointed out for various reasons that myself and Adriana are at the moment officially together. I love her very much and she needs to stop being silly.

³Alliteration This is satisfying....

⁴ And, just quietly, my people are everywhere. Those of you who fail to do this will be crushed. As you were.

⁵"Oh, yeah?" bang "well, one of your tyres is flat, arsehole".... "An expert in kick boxing, is he?" bang " It didn't seem to help"......