2002-12-04 - 2:30 p.m.

In a frankly quite shocking seasonal development, it�s raining very hard. I braved the elements to grab a newspaper, though it�s difficult to buy one these days that isn�t full of royal butlers sodomizing each other, or the latest TV-created popgroup staring out at you, their vacant eyes already full of dread at the amount of fame time slipping away as they suck on satan�s cock and unquestioningly do whatever their record company tells them. �Dance, monkeys! Sell this soft drink! Distract the public whilst we wipe out some brown children!� When the holocaust passes, and whatever species evolves out of the post-nuclear desert, the prime exhibit in the �human race museum� will be a McDonalds-sodden, consumerist behemoth, incinerated in 2003 as he leans forward slightly in his chair, his charred remains just about recognisable as someone who�s trying to text message in his vote for whichever caterwauling simpleton offended him the least in Popsluts that week. It will be a fitting monument.

I picked up a pie, as well.

Pottering back to my flat, brolly in hand, I suddenly find myself almost flattened by a tsunami-shaped wall of water, like I�d stood in the wrong place when Moses pulled his Red Sea trick. A red sports car was already half way into the distance. Some cretinous pustule of humanity had gone through a puddle the size of the Caspian Sea with the express purpose of drenching me. No accident, this. The fucker had accelerated into it. All I could do was to stand there looking like a dripping putz as he shot away, my only hope being that some water had got into his break lining and he was about to aquaplane into a convenient electricity substation, the last thing that he saw, his body still twitching in the melee of twisted metal, being me wringing out my trousers into his gaping headwound. Sadly, he appeared to escape unscathed.

My pie roused my spirits somewhat, but stuff like that really harshes my mellow.

I�m getting asked a lot if I�ve seen Harry P*tter and the Mythical Icecream Duvet or whatever it is, so I tell people I�m waiting instead for the feature film versions of �Janet and John go to the Zoo� and �See Spot Run II� before I move onto the mature stuff. Jesus wept.