Rory Jordan and I went to Maccas for lunch yesterday because the weather’s been cold and miserable. The place was heaving with scroaty squeakers. 20 minutes later. Just as we got to the front of the queue some old French dude in a leather skin and crew cut jumped right in front of us from an adjacent line. Unbelievable. Why do the French feel they have to pull that shit… you know, screw the system at any given chance? What’s wrong with them? Ok, so maybe I was in a foul mood and feeling sorry for myself. I wanted to surf. It would have been easier to let go of the incident if it hadn’t then taken the lane-changer and his girlfriend another quarter of an hour to get their bloody order right. Not helped by the fact that the spotty girl behind the counter found it impossible to place more than one item at a time on their tray. Well, we finally got our "fast food" orders in: Big Mac menu and cheeseburger for Rory and a Maxi Cheese Royale plus quarter pounder for me. We took it all back to the office where Rory realised he’d been given Coke instead of the Diet Coke he’d ordered. Afterwards, I felt terrible and thought I was going to hurl. So I lay down in the Factory and wondered whether PE and Timo weren’t scoring golden arches (the better kind) in the Tuamotus…

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