Thinking of migrating to another dimension - even if it means I might run in to Kate Nash - cos I am sick of London and its petty cuntish rules and regulations enforced by even pettier cuntbrain types sporting kolinsky style wighats eleven chins and folded-paper-tokens of bureaucracy under their arms. I had a run in with one such cunt this morning who fulminated at me in his eardrum-piercing ocarina voice because, get this, I dropped a fag end on the ground. Confounded by the spectacle before me I stood there counting pigeons and matted hairs sticking out of his nose occasionally distracting myself by rolling my eyes and crossing my arms as he continued with his fuckdyke persiflage which culminated with a fifty quid fine and some well-meaning gibberish about giving up fags to which I retorted by saying he should consider getting that lobotomy reversed then lit another cigarette and walked off in to the dispersing fog, the fine fluttering to the ground behind me.