I went walking round a potential new postcode. I'm going to live on my own, in the special home for irritable bachelors. I just haven't found it yet. Soon though. Requirements include: the bed not being in the kitchen, the rent not being more than half the monthly income (ambitious, this, but not impossible), and the distance on foot to town being not more than twenty-nine minutes. This postcode turned out to not be good for aimless scuttling, but it did have a shop called World of Doors.
Later, in a crowd, I hit a man in the eyes with the back of my head and he insisted I not worry about it, and we carried on being riffed senseless by american hands.