Yup. Yesterday was my first time on a dual carriageway. My god the mad excitement. We were howling back from Somerset in the bright sunshine with all the windows open and the wind buffetting like a typhoon and I was driving. I was driving with my glasses on so everything was incredibly clear and the road was white and we were piling and thudding through it all, just ripping along with the wheel slightly sweaty in my hands but no way was I going to let it go! Many times we flashed by the dead bodies of rabbits and small beasts that had stepped out into the road and been annihilated from some commuter, or worse, a heavy goods vehicle or a caravan. Just smashed out. Death by caravan must be the worst. Imagine being pasted by the motorised equivalent of a capri sun carton, with dad up front in his driving gloves, mum at the table playing out patience or sliding her way through a patch of stitching and the warm smell of carpets and old people just bombing through your rabbit brain and switching the lights out. We racketed past the dead on that A-road, piled through the clouds of ferment and ghastly smells that plumed up around them.

I mustn't be so distracted when I drive. It's too easy to let your mind out of the roaring open window and up into the air and rush off to think about the story that led me, at one time, to find myself steering bravely through a heap of children's toys and clothes that had been grandiosely sprinkled over this great fast road. And I must control the death thoughts, the intermittent, unstoppable fantasies that pop into your mind, innocent as a canape, and say, what if you... what if you just.... what if you just wrenched it, yanked that wheel and let us fly and everything would taste of metal. Christ. Stop it. These thoughts are a wonder to me. Which part of us wants to undo all the hard work, unstitch the manners and the relationships and all that we've made? ...On the bridge (let's jump!), holding the baby (would it bounce?), at the tube station (should I surf down the barriers between these good escalators?), in church or the quiet hall with the programme starting to melt in your bored hands (now? now? stand up? yell it! yell what? IT!). Mysterious.

Meanwhile, you should see this. (I love the guy with the broken window and the woman who "can't take much more of this"). And p-lease notice the sexy "Contact" button on the bar above, my god the technofreakery path I trod to make that.