Returning home from London with a pit of irritation and misery in my chest, I parked at home, jumped out the car, and started walking into town. There was a comedy night on. I stopped at the local shop for some bread rolls and bananas (2 of each) and had a walking evening meal on the way to the gig.

Some laughter, a few pints of something pleasant, and I was in a better frame of mind. I was nearly talked into going on stage, but I declined. Then I wished that I could have gone on, but sometimes you shouldn't go on stage.

I started walking back home afterwards, rang my ex-girlfriend to see if she happened to be travelling back from town too, and she came and got me - without me really asking. That was nice of her.

So I walked about half the way home (maybe a little more) and then got driven the rest of the way. That's the power of prayer.