One of the nice things about living in a pub, is all the interesting people you get to meet.
Last weekend I woke up and wandered bleary-eyed into the living room, whereupon I discovered that an axe-murderer had spent the night sleeping on the sofa.
I exaggerate slightly; it was actually a claw hammer that this fellow used to kill his abusive father when he was fifteen. But it still caused me to ponder at some length, as I tried to work out the best way of telling an axe-murderer that he can't smoke in the flat...*
In the end, I resolved simply to make myself a cup of tea, clean out the mice and go back to bed.
In other news, my car is still AWOL... sort of. My insurance company has still not told me a damn thing about it, like where it is, whether I'll be getting back, or how much money they want to give me for it. However, I have had my tax disc and student parking permit posted to me by the good people at W.J. Furber, a car salvage and spares yard some 140 miles away in Shropshire.
Must play with mice... think happy thoughts... everyone's on fire...
*Disclaimer: Matt's actually an awesomely cool guy, if a little heavily medicated. My problem was more one of crippling politeness...