Legless

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My day so far? Did I...

> Get on my new bike, bought during post-7/7 trauma (and when the smell of school children drove me off the buses) and 'cycle' to work. Only to find myself hit by shrapnel from a tube user who having been persuaded by her husband to use the buses 'for a laugh' lost her temper and detonated her leather portfolio. I write this while waiting for a surgeon to remove the bike from my shins, then my shins...

> Come round in my front room, still talking to the lifeless corpses of my dinner guests last night. On closer inspection they'd died from 'false grinning at pissed host'. The police, the fools, swallowed the 'typhoid' excuse. Again. Currently I'm getting pissed enough to call their families.

> Take a pair of shears to the front hedge, sweep up some leaves, drink some vodka and orange juice (surely the fuel of angels) and listen to some 'music'. All while slowly working up a slight panic at the fact that I really should start on a solid five minutes or I'm going to look like a tit.

By the way - good old Malden salt achieved more in a day than Bonjela in a week, and makes you want to drink enough Stella to fall off your shoes quite easily. I'm off for another one of those Vorange Juices...

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