h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

I swear, that of the 6 billion plus people on this planet that there's only yours truly that could have terrorists trying to explode them as the least stressful part of their day. Oh, ok, maybe only yours truly, James Bond, Jack Bauer and Johnny Borrell (well, not Johnny Borrell I guess, but I was enjoying the JB theme).

I suppose that needs some sort of justification. Even if it doesn't I'm about to justify it, so don't bother reading if you saw the above two sentences and thought "fair enough Andy, I'll accept that theory without any corroberation."

To truly understand the mindset I was in today, we have to travel to the distant past. Last night to be precise. Last night I had a dream. In this dream I was tempted three times. The first time, I was offered Class A drugs, which I took. The second time I was offered a cigarette, which I smoked. The third time I was offered the affections of a woman who was not my girlfriend, which I accepted. Not a good dream to have when you're attempting to give up smoking, have been happily in a relationship for six months and haven't touched any drugs for a year. In fact, it's the sort of dream that you hope doesn't come true at any point.

Fast forward to 4pm, Friday afternoon. I'm on a bus (the 37 from Manchester Piccadilly, if you really want to know). About half way between Piccadilly Gardens and Salford Precinct the bus stops and the driver asks us to check the bus. Apparently a bomb threat has been reported, as an undisclosed terrorist organisation (which I'm convinced wasn't the People's Front of Judea) had placed an unspecified number of bombs on buses in the Greater Manchester area disguised as bottles of Smirnoff Ice. Fortunately I got home without being blown up at any point on my journey, which I'm sure you'll agree is always a bonus. This threat of suffering dismemberment by vodka explosion would probably be the worst part of anyone's day, but as I'm sure you've guessed that dream I mentioned above will come back to haunt me at some point.

Fast forward again the 10pm Friday night. I'm in 5th Avenue and drinking heavily. Unfortunately 5th Avenue is the sort of place where all your dreams come true. First, I'm offered Class A drugs in the toilets by an old acquaintance of mine. If you believe that dreams can predict the future then I'm sorry to disappoint but the drugs were quickly and firmly turned down. A few hours later and we're stood by the corner of the dancefloor. On the ledge near to me is an empty packet of Benson and Hedges Silvers. My preferred brand of cigarettes. Being the type of person who fiddles with empty boxes, the packet is shaken, flicked and opened to reveal a cigarette. Obviously the packet wasn't as empty as I'd suspected. Obviously I was being tempted by the second part of my dream. Nicotine. With some degree of hesitation I took the cigarette in hand, held it between my thumb and forefinger, then flicked it off onto the dancefloor where it ricocheted off an emo kid into a puddle of red bull and vodka. With the resistance of the temptation of cigarettes, even my beer-addled mind was beginning to detect a pattern. True to form I was soon after tempted by the affections of a fiery redhead whom Dan "would well have shagged". Fortunately I was getting into the swing of things at this point and politely pointed out I had a girlfriend whom I was very much happy with.

I hope I dream of winning the lottery tonight though.

Where's this been hiding?

According to Mina, if a posting is the only one in the thread and is hidden the whole thread dissapears.

So if someone yikes a journal entry before a reply, and it gets hidden or referred, then the whole thread disappears.

Strange, but understandable. I still want to know who Yikesed it though.