Observations about gravel...

Gravel. It's not overly exciting, is it? I mean, it serves its purpose well enough - covering a drive or path, sprinkling on cereal or porridge for trolls, burying grandma alive in - but generally, you wouldn't consider gravel a hot topic of conversation. Not so at my home. "Come and visit us!" My parents encourage me. It is, after all, summer. And I was in between houses for a few days, so it made sense.
 "We're getting new gravel!" I'm told. Right, I think, good for you. And I expect this to be, largely, the end of the subject. Perhaps I will be occasionally reminded the gravel arrives on Friday, or asked if I'm still free to help spread it or so on. But that should be it.
No such luck. Gravel appears to be the happening thing. Yesterday, we prepared for the gravel's arrival. We cleared the drive of weeds and ridges where the old gravel had compacted, we swept away leaves and twigs, we set out balloons and hung streamers. My grandparents called. I heard dad on the phone to them, "Yes. 8 tonnes. Oh yes, about three-quarters of an inch. Yes, about an inch-and-a-half covering"
 The gravel arrived this morning, 9:30 sharp. We'd been out since 8, preparing for the arrival. My father talked to no less than TWO people about the gravel before 10. Admittedly, one was our neighbour who noticed our preparations, and the other was the man delivering the gravel. Then we spread the gravel. The gravel said nothing. It didn't even touch the jelly we prepared for it, just sat around expecting us to do all the work. I was not allowed to set fire to it.
 But, it's over now! No longer must I hear about the topic of gravel in great length! No more will I bore my girlfriend with technical details and specifications about gravel! No more must I blog about such subjects! I'm free!

Urgh...
 With a supreme amount of effort, I managed to raise my head. Slowly, I forced the world around me into focus. Had to assess my surroundings. Right, what do I know?
 Hangover. That tells me I'm hungover, so I was drunk. Well, no surprise there. I was in a suit, somewhat dishevelled. What did that mean? Wedding? Funeral? Court Case? Ah, that was it... I'd been in court... my case against Dr. Moriarty had failed again, no surprise there either. He's far too cunning, and deserves a better advisory than me... So, that was why I was drunk and suited, OK. But where was I? The room around me, that looked familiar... But not home-familiar, no... different. Somewhere I'd seen, on... T.V.
 Ah, got it. It's the oval office. Impressive, I'm not even on the same continent anymore. And I must have told some pretty impressive lies to get in here... On the other hand, maybe they'd just thought Bush was back...
 Getting to my feet, I staggered to the window and poked at it pathetically. So... It was sturdier than I'd imagined. It was far too cunning, and deserves a better advisory than me... Must be some way out...
 In the corner of the cornerless room, a chair was on fire. Panicking, I opened the door and walked out. Well, that dealt with two problems. A small group of people were gathered nearby, and turned to look at me with shock. I looked back with shock too... How did they fit a car in here? Wait, not just any car... Kennedy's car, the one he was shot in! I turned, and ran into the imposing, unmoving mass of Al Capone. It was then it hit me: I wasn't in America, I was in an American-themed museum! At the same time, an elderly security guard also hit me. As I lost consciousness, I was aware of being dragged towards a fire exit...

With a supreme amount of effort, I managed to raise my head. Slowly, I forced the world around me into focus. Had to assess my surroundings. Right, what do I know?
Hangover. That tells me I'm hungover, so I was drunk. Well, no surprise there. I was in a suit, somewhat dishevelled. What did that mean? Wedding? Funeral? Court Case? Ah, that was it... I'd been in court... my case against Dr. Moriarty had failed again, no surprise there either. He's far too cunning, and deserves a better advisory than me... So, that was why I was drunk and suited, OK. But where was I? Ah, the alleyway around me was familiar. Very familiar in fact. At last my long search was over: I was home!

In the real world...

I'm still at home at the moment. Yesterday, I caught my mother encouraging the cat to lick my toast. There's still snow outside, but it's starting to melt. I expect this will cause a flood of Biblical proportions. Neptune! I'll get you one day...

The stall...

Was pretty shit, by all standards. It consisted of a table of some sort, covered with the Union flag. Behind the stall, another Union flag was pinned to the wall. An angry, overweight skinhead was shouting angrily from behind the stall and handing out fliers, which people politely glanced at and more politely binned. God bless the BNP.
He saw me, and similarly saw through my disguise as a standard-built white man, realizing at once that I was a black, gay Muslim.
"Hey, you!" He yelled, "You're scum! Go home!"
I take offence to this. So what, i killed a few prostitutes, that doesn't make me scum. And i was going home anyway.