Pro-life rally.

LARGE

I'm pretty anti-life, myself.

A general disdain for the human race triggered, for the most part, by groups of people walking slowly in front of me on the street.

I am a fast walker and thanks to my short attention span and general apathy I can tick most tourist destinations off my list in around 3 or 4 minutes. Even at the flea market today, where I went to with the intention of buying cool stuff to put in my room, I couldn't think of anything apart from how slow the people around were moving.

Everyone was so happy, laughing and kissing and pointing at bourgeoisified tat. Whereas I was literally just sweating. I had a mouth drier than Gandhi's sandals. And yet I couldn't get to my water because everyone would see the dark patch on the back of my shirt as I rummaged about my rucksack, blocking everyone's path and no doubt inciting volleys of abuse about how I'm a stupid, thirsty Brit who can't handle the sun.

There were no exits. We were lined by stalls, and as if to mock me even more, a waft of sickly nostalgia tapped upon my neb. Incense. Coming from that bloody tie-dye stall over there no doubt. How original, I thought, what's the bet that the guy is selling some jewellery made of wood.

Pickpockets bloody love the crowds at the market, too. So every time some little, old woman accidentally nudged my bag with their elbow I near enough pirouetted and karate chopped their blue-rinsed bonce. Good reactions on my part, I reckon.

I think I just need a nap.