Morning Has Broken / June 28 2007
Ahhrgh! Do you ever get one of those mornings when everything goes wrong?
I am ordinarily quite a clumsy person; but I have thoroughly out-done myself today.
I got out of my bed as normal at 6:00am. The early morning sun that was streaming through the window was shining directly upon Audrey, beautifully highlighting the damson colours in her thick coat. What a lovely start to the day, I thought.
We both bounced downstairs for our wake-up lattés (she has her special Pedigree Canine-Coffee), when: Brzzpt! Bang! Zzzpt! The refrigerator blew up. There was a theatrical blue flash, and a puff of black smoke rather like a household-sized, nuclear mushroom-cloud cheerfully wafted up towards the kitchen ceiling.
‘Oh, deary me. The fridge has had it, don’t you know,’ I said to Audrey, who was looking somewhat startled. (To tell you the truth, I did not use that precise phrase. The actual one was slightly more colourful.) Not to worry, I thought, we’ll have a nice cup of coffee and sort everything out in a tick.
I won’t bore you with the full details of the inevitable catalogue of domestic disasters that occurred during the next half an hour. It would be just too depressing a report.
In short, I burned my favourite hand and left inner-thigh with boiling water; stood on a big slug outside with my bare feet; said ‘F*** off, b*****d!’ at the top of my voice while Mary, my elderly next-door neighbour was standing quietly in her garden with her young grandson waiting to wish me a good morning over the fence (– I quickly told her, in a rather tense accent: ‘Sorry, Mary, I didn’t mean you.’ I stopped and pointed at the gooey mess that was once a fat slug and frowned. ‘I’m having a bad day.’); dropped my crumpets and marmite – face down, of course – on the Persian rug in the lounge; banged my eyebrow on a tambourine (don’t ask); smashed a much-loved pot of chives thus skilfully distributing the contents over the kitchen floor whilst chasing a devious and mocking fly; ran out of toilet paper and endured a rather bracing, freezing cold shower. (I suspect my dog had risen secretly in the night and enjoyed a long, hot, soapy bath without me there to embarrass her.) Ho hum.
Do you ever have mornings like that? Or is it just me? I blame Tony Blair, I do. Where the hell is he when you need him?
On the Fantastic hi-fi today:
The Impossible Bird - Nick Lowe
Songs of Love and Hate – Leonard Cohen
Filed under Annoyances / Audrey / Humour / Life / Nick Lowe / Tony Blair
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