Ever had one of those days? You get dressed, go outside and it’s raining but you swear that a split second before you crossed the threshold it wasn’t. Seems unlikely that the universe is conspiring to make you slightly damp but you reserve the right to be suspicious. No choice but to go about your business, but you still check over your shoulder periodically for signs of further minor inconvenience. Never quite sure what it is you’re looking for, but you’ll recognise it when it comes along.
A couple of hours later the rain dries up and the sun starts to shine albeit from behind cloud. Maybe you’ve got away with it! Your good old fashioned stiff upper lip in the face of drizzle and stubborn refusal to seek shelter has shown the world that it can’t win. You might smell vaguely like wet dog but you’re 1-0 up. The whole damn macrocosm should just cut its losses, cash its chips and go home.
Turns out the universe is willing to go for broke. They’ve always run out of your favourite sandwich but none of the others. To make things worse, for reasons that you can only assume are beyond the comprehension of man, they have about 20 more tuna mayonnaise than any other. Do Boots not make more than 1 chicken and bacon?! How do we not have a law against this atrocity? Well, a chicken and stuffing isn’t too bad but it’s not the one you were already mentally eating when you walked through the door. So you start queuing with your second-rate sandwich in hand when you see the clumsily written sign “No cards today. Sorry for any inconvenience”. Your mentally envisaged self drops his sandwich, runs for the automatic doors and starts scouting the local area for a cash machine. But there isn’t one. There never is. By my count, it’s half time and its got you 3 times. Slightly more miserable than before you slump back to an afternoon of hard graft. We’ll call that 4.
It’s the end of a hard day and there’s only one reasonable solution to a man equipped with any sense; a cup of tea. Into the house and straight to the kitchen, you reach for the switch and FLASH. And then dark. The bulb’s gone and so taken a fuse with it. No time for that now, you stay on course for the kettle, praying it’s on a different power circuit. Dead. You decide to settle for a glass of milk. Lumpy. The cosmos got you 3 times in 30 seconds. Unlucky 7, and that’s it. Game over. Bed. You’ll need your rest if you’re going to beat it tomorrow.
It once occurred to me that I might be paranoid but I’ve come to realise that’s just what the psychologists say when they’re out to get you. They say that there’s always someone worse off than yourself. By my reckoning, that leaves one poor sucker at the bottom of the list deserving a bloody good sympathy card.
Don’t let the universe win!
Guiteau
So Git,(I can call you Git can't I?) what's Miley Cyrus done to trigger your animosity this week? Forget to thank you for your crucial role in her recent 13th in the Charts "smash" hit Can't Be Tamed through your sterling oratory skills?
ReplyDeleteI only hope this doesn't become as much of a fiasco as The Incident of Hillary Duff and The Missing Vertebrae? The Gloucestershire Constabulary never did forgive you for that one. And you still owe Poirot a handjob, he keeps nagging me to remind you during our Wednesday bridge game.
That's Mr Git to you! She knows what she's done. Bitch.
ReplyDeleteI'll tell you the same thing I told the Telegraph, it was nothing to do with me and stop asking! And you can tell that glorified private investigator where he can shove his moustached head!