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Dreadful Nonsense

"I've read your blog. it's really funny. you should write a column." - Jon Ronson

Walking to the bus stop from Dee's house is always something of an exciting adventure, because you've got two choices of journey: 1. Walk around the estate along the brightly lit path, past the fountain, out to the main road, and pretty much double back on yourself all the way up to the dual carriageway where the bus awaits; or 2. Walk through the estate in the other direction, until you get to the scary back alley bit through which are dotted large bushes behind which could be lurking all sorts of anything, but usually it's madmen intent on rape or robbery or murder or all three. I, of course, usually go for the second option, because it's quicker and the nights are cold.

Tonight I chose to undertake that second walk while talking on the phone with He Who Only... because being on the phone to someone in London while you're being raped, robbed and murdered is useful. He could at least report to my parents what my final words were before the madman pounced, I suppose. Although it would probably be something as worthless as "My feet are cold..." because that's usually the kind of thing I'm thinking about when walking back from Dee's house.

I noticed, because I'm quite perceptive about these things, that it was snowing. It was snowing in a gloriously story book manner, with the flakes swirling about in the air and not quite appearing to land. Having survived the mystery walk of death (it was too cold out for the madmen tonight, apparently) we decided I'd probably instead die of exposure, having waited for a bus for almost 5 minutes with none appearing on the horizon. Again, I tried to come up with some pithy last words so that He Who Only... would have something to report back to the friends and family, but the best I could come up with was "ooooh... pretty" in relation to the snow.


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