Christ, what a day. I know Mondays are meant to be screwed up, but yesterday takes the biscuit. The fickle finger of fate clearly passed over Castle Langridge with a vengeance.
- Niamh woke up at 5am, feeling sick, and intermittently wassick.
- A hole in a water pipe trashed our kitchen ceiling and took four hours and £125 to fix, said fix happening by the world’s most useless plumber. It would have been better to have Mario and Luigi round doing the work.
- We bought a wardrobe from Ikea that doesn’t fit together. Some of the holes don’t line up properly so you can put screws in. I don’t understand this. Isn’t it just as easy to drill the holes in the right place as it is the wrong place? Stuff you get for a low price always seems to have these hole alignment problems; if it’s just a matter of tolerances on error at the factory, you’d think that once, just once, I might get one of the ones where they got it right, rather than one of the ones where they pushed the tolerances to the maximum.
- The car broke down while driving (after it had a full service on Tuesday!) and we had to sit in it for an hour an wait for the AA to arrive, in the pouring rain.
- Mam called: my grandad was taken into hospital after having either a heart attack or developing a blood clot in something vital. It’s all a bit unclear, partially because all the action is happening in Ireland, and partialy because Mam is furious that her dad was taken in to hospital yesterday morning and no-one rang her to let her know for twelve hours.
I better be due some really good luck to make up for that day. You hear me, Dame Fortuna? The lottery, that’ll do.