Dear Jebus.

Why oh why have you taketh my ipod from me today? Were you punishing me for not but the seven separate occasions it has fallen from my pocket and onto the bike track this week? Could you sense the unbridled pleasure I was taking in listening to ELO’s Balance of Power as I sat at my microscope? Did you know that all I wanted after a hard days toil teaching first year science was to listen to 'I Touch Myself' on repeat all the way back to Brunswick on my bicycle?

Were you punishing me for the repeated daytime sexual fantasies I have about Iva Davies that can be initiated purely by the first two bars of Icehouse’s ‘Electric Blue’? Would you have preferred it if instead of getting freaky behind the test tube rack to ‘Some Like It Hot’ by Robert Palmer and the Power Station Five that I was listening to Amazing Grace instead? Well let me tell you this, Jesus Q. Christ - under this rusted robotic exoskeleton I am still a woman.

In light of this recent tragedy, I hope my loved ones will band together and support me. Perhaps if you were all to take just one adult contemporary record from your parents collection and send me a copy, I could somehow get close to replacing the hours of easy listening that has just passed me by. My only hope of getting to sleep tonight is if some kind of incredibly handsome man calls and sings me a James Taylor song down the telephone line.

Oh God – just saying that reminds me of ‘Telephone Line’ by ELO.

I fucking love ELO.

Anyway, in light of this tragedy of biblical proportions, the first gentleman caller wins my virginity.

FIN.