MINUS TEN DEGREES OF SEPARATION

So, it's like minus-10 degrees in Yeovil and my wife and I are trudging back from town, bloated and out-of-our-minds crazy on cah-cah-caaaaffffeine and charity-shop shopping - me shuffling forward, zimmer-like, in me pensioner's orthopedic zip-up woollen boots and we pass Brian the Gravedigger (he of Mobile DJ Infamy) in shorts and a T-shirt...like he's strolling on the fucking beach in Jamaica.

"Brian! You mad fucker!" I yell at him.

"No bike today, then?" he laughs, striding down the rink-like road as I fall over for the 86th time that morning. I'm thinking of hiring a stuntman, you know - a fucking stand-in to take over my basic day-to-day duties. A body-double.

Speaking of Brian:

SOUNDSYSTEM!!!!!

"Proper job".