These Little Yellow Things are Failing Me

My pills - those magical potions - are not doing the work they were made for. The anxiety they are supposed to prevent is attacking me from every direction. After a sleepless night (listening to TalkSport and doing nothing that could even loosely be defined as productive) I awoke to hear my ceiling caving in. Or, at least, that is how it sounded. My neighbour was stomping all over her flat, dislodging fragments of plaster from my ceiling, and her children were screaming at one another. I checked out my own tenancy agreement and there is nothing in it that gives the residents of this block permission to set their flats on fire or flood out their neighbours. I guess she must have signed a different tenancy agreement to me. Most peculiar. And the joke is - the really big, sick joke - that when I was coming back from the shop I saw a notice the caretaker had pinned to the bin-shed: 'Do Not Deposit Refuse in Front of These Doors: Maximum Fine: £50,000 or 12 Months Imprisonment' Methinks a group of people not very far from here have their priorities ever so slightly screwed up.

But, for now, silence reigns.