So how’s your week been? Mine? Well it has been an exercise in bouncing from one disaster to another. That’s right, after last week’s break from my usual litany of moanage, the angry gods of shite came down upon me with mighty vengeance.
Let me talk you through it so you can all pity me, in almost equal measures to the amount I pity myself.
Firstly, last Saturday night Rebecca went out for the night with her boyfriend and some friends. As I woke on Sunday morning I was greeted with a tearful Rebecca, sharing tales of her stolen phone and a night out she wanted to forget. After reporting said theft to the police, we then heard from a kind soul who had found her phone and taken it home with him. Luckily for him he called, as no doubt the Greater Manchester Police were just about to deploy the SWAT team to take him out after I had given them the location of the phone courtesy of the Find My Irresponsible Daughter’s iPhone app.
I spent most of Sunday arranging to go and collect it, and then buying and taking a bottle of whiskey with me to say thank you for not having it on eBay within minutes. As he handed over the phone I quickly saw why he could not have done that, even if he were that way inclined. The front screen looked as if a small nuclear reaction had gone off just under the glass. The thing still worked, but using the touchscreen meant collecting shards of glass in the ends of your fingers.
Luckily, we have our mobiles insured, but still, a hefty excess makes the replacement of it painful.
Having barely recovered from the stress and heart-break of parting with that chunk of change, on Monday, whilst trying to look busy at my desk Louise phoned me, beginning the conversation with the words nobody wants to hear.
“You’re going to go mad!”
I did. It turned out whilst running the bath a couple of phone calls had distracted her and we now had a lovely water feature in the kitchen below. It sounded as if the Apocalypse was happening in my house as I sat with my head in hands at work. None of the electrics were working, wallpaper was off, and I was weeping causing a similar flood at my desk.
By the time I got home, things were a little calmer, and I managed to get the electrics back on, and it seems all we have to make good is one wall which now has no wallpaper on it. I’ll need to leave that for about six months so it can properly dry out of course.
Things were all calm on Tuesday, which was nice. However as I arrived home from work on Wednesday I was greeted at the car by Oli and Louise, and I knew something was up. Louise told me that all the electrics were off again, and nothing was bringing them back.
“Oh deary me, what a week we are having,” I said, unable to suppress a smile!
I went to the fuse box thing and fiddled expertly with stuff, but to no avail. It was only after that fiddling that a thought occurred to me. This is a power cut. A quick check with next door, and yes, they had no power either. This was inconvenient as Louise’s new phone had just arrived, as she had just upgraded. I needed power for the WiFi, so that I could set it up.
Speaking of WiFi, about a week earlier, Louise’s old phone, with just days to go before we could upgrade, decided to break, and develop the world renowned “greyed out WiFi button” that it seems has befallen half of the iPhone 4s in the universe. She hadn’t noticed for a few days and gone massively over her data limit, at great expense.
Now, with her upgrade date so close at hand of course this wasn’t too much of an issue, but upon upgrading I was looking forward to trading the old phone in for a few quid, which would probably now not be an option. I am still wrestling with it to make look like it works for the purposes of the testing said trade in folks will undertake.
Yesterday, I attempted to change the fuse in Rebecca’s GHD straightener things as they had stopped working. Of course, that did not do the trick and they lie dead under her bed. I don’t care one bit that she has used them every day for the past five years. The fact that they broke this week is evidence of the revenge being exacted upon me. It’s a good job GHDs are so cheap to replace isn’t it?
Today, the hoover, or more accurately, Dyson packed in. Again, we’ve had this for years and years, but why today, why this week? I had a new one all selected, with my finger poised over the Buy button on a suitable web site, but something within me told me to fight back, and not take this cosmic rogering lying down. I pulled at stuff, I disconnected stuff, I huffed and puffed and wrestled with pipes and brushes. With a good sweat on, I arose victorious, arms aloft. The bloody thing was working again. I had fixed it. In that contest of Man V Machine, Man was victorious.
Emily asked me why I was walking around the dining room with my arms aloft. She wouldn’t have understood. It is these small, insignificant acts that (just) keep me sane. It is this act of saving a few quid on a new hoover that stops me from going all Michael Douglas in Falling Down through the village.
In the historic words of Chumbawumba, I get knocked down, but I get up again. Usually after a quick cry, and a few hours of sulking and swearing, but still, I do. I am hopeful that having been the play thing of the Gods of the shitty end of the stick, the week to come will include a lottery win, a 32″ waist and a Florida beach. I’ll let you know!
Till the next time…..