So there I was, down on my hands and knees scrubbing brown fungus out of the cracks between the floor tiles. I had a portable radio tuned to the local oldies station and cranked up loud so I could sing along with Pat Benatar on Hit Me With Your Best Shot, a song that I believe we should all be obliged by constitutional amendment to turn up and join in whenever we come across it on the radio. I’d worked my way around the base of the toilet until I was wedged firmly between the bowl and the wall so I could reach all the way behind the base when the cruel bastards down at the station started playing some crap song by Phil Collins. How the hell are they able to tell when I can’t turn the radio off because I’m up at the top of a ladder or I’m stuck behind a toilet? Huh? How can they do that? Do they have cameras in my house? Are they watching from a van parked in the street? Even factoring in the obvious, that there are so many crap Phil Collins songs that I’m going to get one a day, it just seems way too coincidental that the radio always seems to be out of reach when they play one on the air.