Once I'd got home earlier, that was it. No more, I thought; that's that. Finished. Thank-you, but no. Game over.

Before then though, I was well up for it. I was walking home, spring in step, considering it to be some of my best work; il mio capo lavoro, so to speak.

How the hell did it go from one extreme to the other, from the state of pure unadulterated satisfaction meets content certainty to a feeling of complete disgust?

Oh, by the way, my car tax disc ran out today.

I've got the radio on in the background. Oh my god. They're going on about paedophiles again. Every one's got an opinion. What happens if you don't have an opinion on the subject? "Kill 'em" ."You can't cure it". "What they need's a good gelding" etc etc etc. The end point, "the opinion" shaping the thoughts that should be preceding it. It "feels" right, some how, to tackle paedophilia with a great stomping hobnailed boot.

The media - honestly, if it wasn't such a tyranny it'd be funny. Football one minute, men in macs the next. Keeping it fresh. You've got to hand it to them - the slant/ framing of the their "news" is never subtle but remains invisible to many, most of the time. I have to keep reminding myself to consider motives, and read/listen critically. Highly critically. Encourage the acceptance of opinion as the most valued currency of our time, and who needs objectivity ? Who needs News?

Anyway, I got a new disc, and while I was in the Post office, I bumped into that nutter who advertises Cillit Bang on the telly. He shouts because he's deaf.  I never knew that. I just thought he was a twat.

Bring the noise