You know when you’re having one of those days….well today, I’m having one and it is only half eleven in the morning.
It started at eight am when I leapt out of bed, tired, late and with that dizzy, nauseous feeling.
Outside the first frost of our mild winter had landed. Big coat weather had suddenly arrived. The car was covered in icy white patterns so off I trotted outside to start her up and get her going a bit before I commenced with the scraping. Now as it happens, I got a free ice scraper from Halfords the other day from O2 Priority moments. Seems spending a shed load of money with your mobile contractor lets you have the occasional free gift throughout December. How fortuitous. Problem was, when I went to open my little pap-pap it refused. My car is one of those where windows have to release a smidge before the door opens. Problemo numero uno: Windows are FRIKKIN frozen shut. Brilliant, just brilliant. I had no de-icer and I didn’t think using hot water from the kettle would be a good move. Instead I started to kick the door. At least I was able to release angst. The person I was kindly giving a lift to stood there looking at me with disdain.
“I’m going to be late.” They said.
“SOS…as powerful as I am I have no control over the weather, love.” I replied.
Eventually I got into the car, put the blower on max heat onto my windscreen and gave it a few revs. I located my new scraper gift and began to scrape….yeah. Now I know why it was free. Because it was crap. I’d have had better results from licking the windscreen. The late person in my car continued to stare at me with frustration and I wondered how easily said scraper would fit up their arse.
Eventually, I managed to create enough space to see out of the window.
“I need something from the boot of your car..” They said, the minute I’d got seated.
“Of course it is.” I got out and went to the boot. My boot is opened by pressing a button. There is no other way except for another button in the car. Buttons are completely and utterly pointless when boot is frozen shut.
“It’s not working.” I declared as I got back in the seat.
“OMG!!!” They yelled, helpfully.
I drove like Lewis Hamilton in a bad mood to the drop off point hoping the car would warm up and the boot would release. No. Wasn’t having it. Instead I managed to set off some sort of wailing alarm that I’d never heard before in the inside of my car that wasn’t mixing well with the dulcet tones of Sam Smith on the radio.
They, slammed their door shut and walked off without a goodbye, thank you or kiss your arse.
Anyway, my next mission was en route to the Doctors to get some valium. On my way, down the busy High Road I noticed an old woman dressed completely in red, standing on the white lines in the middle of the road. I wondered if it was a spoof Santa at first, what with the red get up but then noticed it was an old woman just hanging about. I was curious as to what the hell she was doing and then I was worried incase she had dementia and then I nearly broke my neck having to do an emergency stop before killing the cyclist in front of me. At this point I wouldn’t have minded knocking this blighter off his bike cos he was one of those cyclists that have ZERO regard for other vehicles and weave in and out of traffic in their neon spandex like no one else matters. However, I didn’t really want to kill someone just before Christmas. On the plus side, the jolt of my severe braking released the boot and up it sprang, mid busy road, spewing out some of the tat I’d bought the day before on my Christmas present, shopping jaunt. Great.
Neither the cyclist or the granny in red saw fit to help me retrieve any of it.
I got to the Doctors 5 minutes before my appointment. At my Doctors there is a screen where you have to register to say you are here along with numerous other multi choice, irrelevant questions. I don’t particularly like touching it since everyone who has, is virally infected. I hate it even more when after going through the whole rigmarole it comes up with a line of text saying “We were unable to register you at this time, please go to reception” Sigh.
I waited at reception until one of the three women had left it long enough to gain superiority over me before acknowledging my presence.
“I have an appointment at eleven.” I said to her busy face.
She scanned the screen. Sighed a bit. Tutted and then sniffed. “Your appointment was an hour ago, at ten not eleven.”
“But my iphone says eleven…” I checked my calendar. I made a mental note to give Siri a bollocking when I left. “Oh, sorry…don’t know how that happened. Well is there any chance of just bagging a prescription?”
“No. You have to see the Doctor.”
“What about being sectioned? Could you get me into some kind of institute over the Christmas period? I think I need a break!” I smiled.
Doctors receptionists have about as much personality as Eric the dead rainbow fish on a mongers ice chill.
“I’ve booked you in for ten minutes to ten, tomorrow.” She said stony faced, “Don’t be late.”
“I think you should go to Anne Summers and get a rampant rabbit.” I replied in my head. That’s what I wanted to say, but I didn’t. I smiled politely and wondered if I could get another useless scraper from Halfords.
Back home, I retrieved what goodies were left from the boot of my car and took them inside. As I was going through them, my Mother rang. She has excellent timing like that.
“So how is everything?’
“Well, I’m a bit pissed off as it happens, “ I told her the sequence of events, “ And I’ve lost one of the Christmas cards I bought when my boot flew open. It was my favourite one. It had a picture of Jesus on with the caption “It’s all about me”
“Who were you going to send that to?” My Mother queried.
“I dunno. Ideally someone religious.”
“You can’t do that!” She admonished.
“Why not? It is all about him, isn’t it? How could that possibly offend anyone?” I replied drily.
“I think you should go for a lie down.” My Mother suggested.
I think she’s right (for once)