I hate elevators. They’re more closely related to magic than technology; they swallow you up, transport you invisibly from one place to another, then spit you out without so much as a “Goodbye.” Whilst trapped within their metal walls you find yourself detached from the world, and by extension reality. This can fiddle with your head something awful if you’re in a bad state of mind, as was the case for me.

Unfortunately, being as I live on the top floor, the only alternative is to hoof it up six flights of very steep stairs, and as anyone who’s had major abdominal surgery can tell you, this is a bad idea. Not only will it hurt like a son of a bitch, but you’re also running the risk of straining your stitches and having them to break. Then you’ve got a mess on your hands. Quite literally.

I don’t know if any of you have ever had to pick your intestines off the floor and shove them back into your gut, but let me assure you that it is, in fact, no fun at all.

Especially if there’s a hungry dog around.