Haje’s Brain

Today, when driving home from Manchester at about 10 o clock or so, my driving was not particularly sharp. I had just eaten a massive Indian meal at a nice-looking (but not nearly as nice-tasting) indian restaurant, and my stomach was holding its own private little revolution. It felt as if the stomach acids tried to chew their way through my spleen and onto the car upholstery, to be honest, and I wasn’t having any of it.
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So. You are at a rock concert, and you decide it would be a good idea to let a bunch of people hoist you up on top of all the other people, and get lifted across, eh?
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