Thursday, March 17

Kids: Don't Do Drugs

I just got back from a top secret research mission on grey market PlayStation Portable sales, and I think there is a decent chance I am losing my mind.

It started when I was on Tottenham Court Road -- the epicentre of sketchy electronic gadget sales in London -- and I got a phone call from my doctor's office.

It was the receptionist asking me if I had lost the prescription that my doctor wrote for me last week.
I said no.
"Are you sure?" No, again.
"Well, I'm pretty sure you have, because we just got a call from the Next shop by Chancery Lane (where I had just walked past half an hour before) and they've got it."

It must have fallen out of my pocket and blown in their front door, and they called my doctor's number which was on the prescription.


It was a million to one shot, doc!




Then -- because of course there's more -- I stopped to buy a folding
chair at a place on on Tottenham Court so everyone would have a seat for a dinner party Kelly and I were throwing the next night. I was walking into
these electronic shops with this chair under my arm, asking if they
were selling the PSP. I finally found a place selling them literally
under the counter, got some quotes, and it was all good -- except when
I walked out the door I realised I didn't have the fucking chair!

I had to retrace my steps through every shop, and 20 minutes later found the chair leaning against a building where I had stopped to tie my shoe! A thousand people must have walked past it.

So tell it to me straight: is it possible that I've fried a few too many synapses? And, more importantly, if I am mentally deranged, does that mean I'm justified in spending £300 on a PSP?

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