String Em Up

Well, I'm just back from a drunken weekend in Gloucestershire, and very good it was too. My homecoming, however, slightly marred by, as I wandered up to the bridge from Chalk Farm somewhat bemused by my lack of sleep, being punched in the face by some shitey teenagers on account of not being able to tell them what the time was.

My views on everything have, all of a sudden, taken a lurch towards the fascist. Or at least the Daily Mail. Perhaps it's brain damage.