One of the most significant reasons for attempting to follow my own advice of occasionally just recognising that a night is bad, and is not going to go anywhere good, and therefore one should say 'fuck it' and go home, is that during the course of that journey home, you usually start to feel a bit less like the world is ending. Thus it is that I write to you in despair, but not utter despair - that was an hour ago, standing in a KFC (all glamour with me, isn't it?) and giving the cashier 20p in order to stop the ridiculous young man in front of me complaining - in a cheeky, 'I'm gonna get this fo' free yo' fashion that made me want to shoot him in the head - that he usually gets free barbecue sauce and how dare she charge him. I couldn't believe I was living in a world in which people were...not stupid, but annoying enough to do that. How dare he be in the same world as me, I thought, and in fact I did let slip, "Go on, get out" and briefly thought he'd punch me, but I wouldn't have cared if he had. And I'd have kicked him back, harder.
So, yes. What I was saying was, tonight was doomed to failure from the start, so now I'm home, but I have KFC and I taped Sunday's Top Gear so I'm going to watch Jeremy Clarkson jumping Hammond again and hope that it helps a bit. Because something has to.
Edit : ...or, I could stare in amazement as BBC Four on BBC Two attempts to convince me that a fake horse hanging from a ceiling has "a very deep meaning, based around death". Art for art's sake, money for god's sake, indeed. I wouldn't mind nearly so much if they'd only just say, "Look, it's a horse! Hanging from the ceiling! Isn't that weird?"