Wolves Riding Bears.

(I tried to scan it, but, Epson make crappy scan-make-available machines.)

I am sitting in a Starbucks, in the city of Chester. After wondering afar the town with little to do, I decided to break, sit and relax in said establishment. I have recently decided to order a different drink upon every Starbucks visit, and today's is a Banana Chocolate Vivanno. It's shit, frankly. What a waste of £3.20; bloody delectational experimentations.

So, now I sit alone, paying far too much for things. I am typically British, it would seem. I am dissatisfied by the weather and am too fussy about pricing, but too modest to mention it. Not in America; if I were American they'd hear it. Hear It well I say!

Modesty, pah. "Stiff upper lip" more like 'easily-disgruntled-by-defied rules-and-rebellious questioning-lip'; raging against the machine times.

I am already halfway through this "vivanna" without a hint of pleasurable taste to possibly pass through my lips.

I rode on a new bus today; it's close to home; on the Holt Road, so I now don't have to cross a motorway in order to travel here. However, I paid £2.85 for my ticket, apparent return price, but alas, the driver tells me that he "don't do returns" and yet still sells a single for the same price. Ridiculous!

I realised last night that I am in fact neurotic. Given the symptoms, it's unsurprising that I already knew I wasn't exactly "right" in the head. Overemotional and easily stressed over very little; that is very much me. I guess now I now have a name to put to the face and the first stage with dealing with any problem, is realising it; only then can one move forward. Alan helped me realise it. We are very similar and upon realising he was and telling me, I in-turn knew and in-turn, told Tommy he was too. He said he didn't want to see anyone about it, not even a pharmacist. He suspects some kind of village bitching revolt against him. Bless him. I wish he weren't so paranoid; he'd help himself a lot by reducing that.

God, I just had a horrible thought; what if he decides that it's all too much for him and kills himself? I fucking hope he does not! Besides, he doesn't even know he's born, compared to some.

Anyway, I'll sign off (aha). I was meant to be meeting Alan here today, but he got caught up with some technician putting Sky+ in or something. Now, it would seem that for another hour or so, i'll be here wondering before wasting however much money in need to get home.

Life is good.

*signature*

Eliot Humphreys.

Oh, and that twat Royden was on the bus to Chester. I wanted to hit him. But, I didn't, sadly.