Yesterday, I imprisoned The Boyfriend in our flat. This was not due to some newfound sadistic tendency, but as a result of being downright stupid. From the top…
My tin can car has, up to this point, served me very well. Other people enjoy the comfort of their mod cons - CD players and electric windows and whatever else comes in a modern motor - but I have always been quite happy with trusty Eileen getting me from A to B without sounding like she’s in danger of dissembling about my seat. But I’m sad to report that as time wears on, she is becoming increasingly less convincing at doing this. Her most recent ailment is a violent growl. Problemo.
So yesterday, The Boyfriend kindly leant me his lovely car. I jovially trotted off to work to embark on a new day and, as I was beavering away setting up the day’s inspirational learning opportunities, he was frantically trying to call me to say I’d done a runner with his house keys. Oblivious to his distress, I then happily welcomed thirty smiling faces whilst he was in dire straits because he had to summon the balls to ring The Boss to inform him of the situation. The Boss was thankfully reasonably understanding considering the circumstances, however The Boyfriend was forced to take a day’s holiday which he didn’t want and was then confined to a foodless flat. Oops.
As a result, today I have been slapped around the face with a hefty, wet karma fish. Nothing has gone right. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Nothing! Not one thing. Nada! Appalling day.
So I am going to put a car at the top of my Christmas list in the hope that this doesn't happen again.