Nightmare-inspired adrenaline highs can take hours to wear off, this I know. Even so, I find myself rhetorically asking why was I a(n ex-)member of a cult, being chased through semi-detached suburbia by said members in a Mini Cooper that kept getting smaller? And why did the cult dress in rough cloth and travel in bathtubs full of ink on the top deck of a number 68 (I think) First Bus to Linlithgow Cross? It tells me that I need to go to bed less worried about things that I cannot change.

Open Mic Challenge: Answer those two questions.

Apologies to people at the quiz. I got there, sat down, and promptly went 'aaargh' at the volume of people/lack of space. Way too many people for such a small table. Hence my buggering off shortly after getting there.