Princess Rhiannon gets the bus

The only people who get the bus in this city are foreigners, alcoholics, and retarded people. Absolutely everybody else whizzes around the place in jeeps — it's just like living in LA, minus Kiefer Sutherland.

I found a flat on my bike this morning, after sneaking out of my secret lover's house a little late for work. A flat! That is a proper pain in the arse because I've only just gotten round to changing my winter nail tyres. (Well, I didn't actually change them myself, per se, I had to get a man to do it for me while I stood filing my nails and wondering what shoes to wear that evening).

I didn't have time to change this morning's flat by myself, of course, and Kiefer Sutherland was nowhere to be found. Normally I would have just walked to work, but I had a meeting to get to and I never noticed how slow walking is before. So boring. So I hopped on a bus with all the alcoholic people, and tried to avoid eye contact.

Karma must have bitten me in my snobby arse though, because by the time I realised I'd hopped on the wrong bus, I found myself down by the sea on the other bloody side of town. Luckily for me, however, I managed to make full eye contact with a rather helpful alcoholic person, who then taught me all about route maps and bus numbers and actually managed to get me to work on time.

Thank you, helpful alcoholic person. I hope somebody gives you a jeep for your birthday.