Ch-ch-ch-choices

"Not pro-life!" objects M, "pro-choice, you buffoon. I can't believe you wrote that. What will people think? What if a potential employer's reading this? It's dangerous writing that." That's right, I got it wrong, and those like minds that stand up for the rights of women to decide what's best for their own lives can call off the fire bomb campaign. Phew. I mean, you wouldn't want to live with a pro-lifer anyway would you? All that constant badgering of gynaecologists and hanging about outside abortion clinics, shouting at mothers, imploring them not to kill that foetus. Where's the fun in that? So, pro-choice it is, potential employers, and you'd be giving a job to a liberal, not a fascist which, unless you're the BNP or a Fourth Reich, would no doubt be a good thing.
Having listened to a David Gray CD this morning I went for a walk to clear my head of dreary AOR. Typically, as soon as I got to the top of the street it started raining. So much for global warming. I took cover in a bus shelter, as other people wearing less clothes than me just kept walking in it, but eventually I bit the bullet and strode out in the downpoar, protected by my t-shirt and tough northern skin. I was admired by several smackhead sorts who were loitering outside a Cash Express (a contemporary pawn shop and facility for getting your hands on money coming your way days before it's arrived, for which, if I'm reading the writing plastered all over the shop front correctly, you pay a very extortionate fee). They had obviously not seen such a ruddy complexion for weeks, save for the red noses on their pals that drink in the same streets from cans of Carlsberg Special Brew. Anyway, I didn't stop to chat with these people, mainly because they outnumbered me quite dramatically and all looked like extras from a George A Romero film and I was worrying that I might be in shot and/or killed for the money that I wasn't carrying. I mean, you don't want to set off for a brisk walk and end up a zombie, do you? Typically, as soon as I'd finished my walk and headed back through the front door, it stopped raining.

Listening: James Dean Bradfield - The Great Western / Graham Coxon - Love Travels At Illegal Speeds