I've been way too busy to post this week, dealing with a bad bout of what my Auntie R likes to call "pre-monstrousness". I actually relish these few days each month when I feel bad enough to consider myself justified in behaving like a total cow.

I spend so much of my life concerned with with feelings of others, and not upsetting them, and far too little concerned with the things that offend me. It's nice to let that go for a couple of days.

It's nice, on a Sunday morning in Tesco's, when confronted by the woman standing by the papers trying to foist copies of The News of The World on unsuspecting shoppers, instead of muttering a meek "no thank you" whilst gingerly reaching round her for my copy of The Observer, to instead look her straight in the eye and say loudly, in a condescending tone, "Actually, I'm after a newspaper."

It's nice, when the really annoying post-room guy comes into the building, instead of hunkering down behind my computer and squirming at his out-of-tune humming, sing-song "I've just come for your ma-il!", and general smarminess, to instead stand up, walk right up to him, and say: "This is an office, people are trying to work, and some of us have jobs that require a little more concentration than picking up bundles of post. Please shut up."

It's nice, when some moronic semi-adolescent boy passes comment on some portion of my anatomy, rather than furiously blushing and moving away from him as fast as I can, to instead turn round and say as loudly as possible "Well, you clearly have a tiny penis. Why don't you go and fuck yourself with it."

It's nice, just every now and then, to be concerned with some of the things that offend me. Like tabloid newspapers, people who don't know when to shut up, and men who think they have a right to make sexual innuendoes to strangers on the street.