What's with that bloody Andrex puppy?

I'm not too happy about being a worker bee today. Buzzing about for some faceless queen. Giving up our time so that we can earn enough to pay for the commute, to give up our time. Enough for the food we shovel down, in order to have the energy to give up our time. How many days holiday do bees get a year? I bet it's about twenty-five.

Leeds City centre is starting to make me feel nauseous in the morning. It might Be the sweating, nicotine ripe man whose knees bump into my handbag, or the sight of all of us in sensible coats, hiding behind newspapers, pressed together in silence, and thinking of 5:30pm. We are filtered through the station, and I think of traffic. You have to navigate the lanes like a pro, be prepared for the odd emergency stop, and give way to oncoming pedestrians. And once out on the street, our station training serves us well. We walk, single file on the right side of the pavement, thinking ourselves American. A conveyor belt of tired robots keeping pace.

I think of my Santander commute, back in the day, back when I was getting bullied by children with snowballs, slipping over in car parks, and nearly getting run over. Times were good.

If you happen to be in Leeds Train Station with WHSmiths on your left, do me a favour - look up at the huge billboard ahead. Explain it to me. It says, 'He's not immortal, he's just young', and features a dog splattered in paint, but no company logo. I don't get it. It looks like the Andrex puppy, so I think of loo roll. Are they telling me to excuse young children from shitting over everything? Is it for drunken, late night travellers, heading out into the city - 'This puppy thought he could hold his drink too. Now look at him. You're not immortal, you're just young. And you'll end up the same way.'

I look at it everyday. I frown. I. Don't. Get. It. Please help me. Or I'm going to kick it in the face. I don't know how. I'll have to get a ladder. I'll have to develop a skillful, acrobatic move, during a quiet period which will allow time for set up before a possible arrest. I'm going to graffiti on it, give the dog a tash, surround him in a question mark, smear Pedigree Chum around the borders. I think this is what a mental collapse feels like. I'm certain that my frustration at the whole bloody commuting process comes down to this one billboard. If someone could reveal its true message, I will discover inner peace. I will start sleeping again, and stop shaking my head at labradors everywhere. PLEASE.