About my newspaper
When the wife died, it was months before friends and family finally rallied round.
They saw I was a mess... no sleep, weight loss, bloodshot eyes, unlaundered clothes... They wrote me a note:
"Steve, you've got to stop partying!"
As I sat down next to a bloke on the bus he gave me a really strange look.
"That's typical," I thought. "The bus is empty and yet I still end up sitting next to a fucking nutcase."