I had one of those days yesterday. Bad weather and a lethergy that left me wondering what the hell I'm doing. David Bowie's "Rock'n'Roll Suicide" going around my head and a depressive state growing from within myself.

I took a walk between the showers. Swanston St on a Sunday evening, stopping in a Starbucks along the way. Coffee on top of the beer I'd already had. Drinking in an afternoon is never a good idea.

Memories filtered in. Trying to assess the meaning behind events. Too much thinking and too much liquid. The city was still busy as I fought my way down Flinders St. Thousands of people all heading somewhere while I just walked nowhere.

Food and a rather large plate of sweet'n'sour chicken, rice and prawn crackers nearly burst me.

Time ticked on and the cricket started. I watched it with a growing horror that was only abated by a final wicket, 3 runs short of Australia's target for victory. Shit, that was close. Struggling to fathom out why a bar full of people watching thecricket had to endure some crap music and not have the commentary.

Premiership previews and bed ended the day.

And death to iPods. Nasty, evil little things that they are.

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