The A34 is Hell.

I swear.

Some fucking moron that doesn't know how to drive has a wee bump, the filth shut off the exit to the motorway and the A34 BACKS UP TO BLOODY OXFORD.

Still, I managed to annoy lots of people in open top cars by blasting Zico at distortion levels with my windows open. Fuck 'em.

Paid my outstanding tab at the shop. Christ. NO MORE ANIMALS. Or vivs or nothing. I'm mildly irritated with myself that I have absolutely no self restraint, especially when I know that Slay is going to go batshit.

I'm tired, my tattoo itches, and I should be ripping the room apart trying to find the damn rat snake or ripping the crap out of the understairs cubby to start the conversion process for Zico and Olive. But I can't be arsed, because a twenty minute journey just took me over an hour and I'm in a weird sort of hyped up mood and can't decide whether I want to break something, cry, or sleep.

Once I calm down a bit I'll do something useful. For now, though, I'm off to pace the house moodily.

Jesus I hate being around children.

Next time, we stay in a hotel.