Last night was horrible. As I was returning home, I realised I'd lost my keys at an Asian bar, where we were served by a 50-something year old man with a thick European accent.
All fine.
When we called, it turns out that the man in question never worked at that bar: he was simply collecting inspiration and selling the old balloon dog.
The next thing I know, it's tonight and I'm watching the X-Factor as Wagner goes and sings / murders another classic.
The thing I hate the most? I swear those are my flat keys hanging from his earlobes.
