Breakfast the Two-Hundred-and-Eightieth

Fruit and Fibre (again).

It is funny how indignant drunk people are. This evening on the bus a well-oiled woman staggered into me -- or rather the cello I was carrying on my back -- and then ranted "Do you mind? Watch where you're going with that guitar." I had in fact been standing quite still, contemplating whether to sit at the front or the back.

I opted for the back en fin, where I very nearly took off a man's nose taking the cello off my back. Naturally, I was very apologetic.