My shower head exploded. Aka My naked walk to work.

I knew this was one of those days when my shower head exploded in my face this evening. Exploded / cheap crap my useless cheapskate landlord deemed suitable that disintegrated around me in the shower. Take your pick. Either way, it was the final touch on a shitty day. Another shitty day. 2013, so far, you SUCK! (…or to quote the unnamed individual in the wedding party of “The Wedding Singer,” you suuuuuuuuck!)

I guess I knew it was going to be one of those days when I had another lousy nights sleep, and just when I dozed off was woken by my neighbour and her UK default setting click-clang of the string pull bathroom light switch, which echoes through my studio at 5am. Nowhere else in this world have I seen these fxxking pull chord light switches, but here they seem to be law. What the fxxk is wrong with a normal light switch? Works everywhere else in the world and you don’t hear of daily occurrences of people being shocked to death by their flip switch in the bathroom.

I then had to walk to work naked. In a sense, I mean. I’m not in the habit of streaking to work, let’s just clarify. Especially not on a cold, damp, grey January morning in the UK. Shrinkage? It would vanish completely. I wonder though, can they still arrest you for public indecency if the fella is shrunken within and no longer on display?! But no, I was fully clothed, only without music. Hence, naked. I felt it. I felt really odd. Almost uncomfortably so. So used to a soundtrack to my daily walks that when it’s gone the world seems somewhat off kilter.

Out of whack.

Fxxked.

My headphones died yesterday evening and I just didn’t get around to replacing them after a hellish day in the office. Another hellish (aka crap, utterly pointless, soul destroying…) day. So I was forced to whistle my way to work. But I don’t whistle. As you know. I’m not a big fan of a whistled tune. Even less of a badly whistled one.

Without music to take the edge off, I faced the full brunt of the morning traffic. Cars, buses, vans, trucks, motorbikes. They do make a hell of a noise, don’t they?

Then the swish swish sound of arms rubbing against cheap shiny nylon hoodie as the BackPacked Red Headed Twat jogskips passed. Seriously, this guy wears this shiny tracksuit, dons a backpack, and does this weird jog vs skip thing to the office everyday. I say office, for all I know he just goes around the block for a few hours every day.

Whatever it is, it’s not working. He’s still huffing and puffing, so the exercise aspect isn’t working, and he’s actually gained weight since he first swished by me a couple years ago, so the weight loss effort isn’t working ether.

Then there was the clickclickclick click click click. Click. Click. Clickclickclick of the Winkle picker’s worn by the Moron in Black. This is a guy I see almost everyday. He wears the same black jacket, shirt, skinny jeans every day, and black winkle picker boots that make his feet look stretched. He’s always glued to his smartphone. As his attention gets hooked by the small screen, so he slows down. As he finds a gap in the entertainment, he speeds up, races passed, and then slows again as YouTube, or whatever other crap he’s watching gets his attention again. Yes, he’s a real cock. He screams it from head to toe. Especially toe in those ridiculous boots.

See? Usually my music gets my mind to wander and think of better things, so I avoid the irritants as much as possible. Without it it made me even more grumpy than usual. So you’ll be pleased to note the situation has been resolved and sparkly new headphones have been purchased and my walk home was decidedly better….till the post work grocery shop, and then the shower.

But still, at least tomorrow BackPacked Red Head Twat and Moron in Black will pass by to a decent soundtrack…