There must be something about Jasmine's neck because walking home last night I found that my headphones - the ones I got 8 days ago brand new - were broke. Fucking broke!

Waiting for the N55 in the rain, surrounded by drunken partying Portuguese and listening to the left channel of Michael Manring's experimental jazz-rock group Attention Deficit, it occured to me that if there were someone who wanted strangling right at that moment, I would've done it. Gleefully.

The second to last N55 trundled by.

I waited 45 minutes longer for another one while being pestered by some fat jackass wearing a giant ginger wig and a pair of flashing novelty glasses formed into the numbers '2004'.

I was choking that bitch out when the last N55 came along. I got on and fell asleep.

Then I woke up half way to Woodford, about 5 miles away from my intended destination. The bus driver informed me that there would be no other bus going back in the other direction.

It was raining heavily and I had no tunes.

Reader, I walked those 5 miles, filled with vengeful thoughts for all of you for tiny little reasons, some of which I might have just made up, just to stop me breaking into someone's house and killing the occupants.

...on the other hand, those headphones were gash anyway, and now I have the excuse I needed to send them back, grab that refund and buy some decent cans that aren't just all mouth-no trousers.

So maybe it's worked out well.