St Valentine Massacre.

I am in the mood for death. Lots of it, and all of it other people’s. Last night I left the office, heading up to town to pick up a Surprise for a friend of mine. Not a Valentine’s surprise, just an ordinary, run of the mill surprise. I had bought my travelcard at lunchtime, as I generally do when I’m heading up to London. So, I got to Victoria, and discovered that I’d lost my travelcard. Fuck. So, back to Battersea Park to buy another, yeah?

No. The ticket machine wasn’t accepting notes, and the ticket office was closed. So I bought a single to Victoria, intending to buy a travelcard on the underground. Naturally, the machines that take cash or cards weren’t working there, either, and the queue for the ticket office was about three weeks long. So I thought fuck it, and used the last of my change to buy a single to Tottenham Court Road, where I was going to sort out the surprise.

When I got to TCR, I discovered that my wallet, that I know I had at Victoria, was gone. Oh, and the person I was picking the Surprise up from hadn’t got it with them – they’ve been run ragged over the last week, and it was the last thing on their minds. Fair enough.

So I borrowed a mate’s mobile in order to report the wallet as gone, and a tenner to get a ticket home, giving up on my day.

And then I got up this morning to discover that we have no hot water. I’m not sure why.

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