Put your happy hat on   Leave a comment

Or, indeed, not.

Sunday was one of those days where it felt like things just didn’t work out as well as they could have.

After a late morning and struggling to get going I went to the town for a loaf of bread and a big pot of cheapo paint. Greggs didn’t have any unsliced loaves. Wilkinsons only had small pots of cheapo paint. Returning almost empty-handed made the objectively-trivial-but-seemingly-onerous effort of getting to the town centre feel even more of a nuisance.

Then I did some sanding in the bedroom, to neaten up some holes I’d filled the day before. Useful and worthwhile, but I didn’t get around to cleaning the place up afterwards or doing any painting because I was already late…

…For a family barbecue at my parents’. Which was fine. The food was nice. Nobody was unpleasant. It was an excuse to go out on my bike. But I wasn’t in a sociable mood and it felt a bit like quite an expensive, time-consuming, unhealthy and dull way to have a free dinner cooked for you. Yes, I know, missing the point completely and being ungrateful at the same time. Well done me.

Also, I found a letter the council had sent to me at my parents’ house, claiming that my house was unused and empty. So that brightened me up still further, knowing that I’d have to call them today – for some reason they don’t give you an e-mail address. If there’s one thing I love it’s telephoning strangers, and if there’s one organisation I look forwards to dealing with it’s the council.

I hate councils. They’re an imposing, inconvenient, useless, bureaucratic nuisance. I don’t even know what they’re for, aside from emptying the bins and running the swimming pool; whenever I try and find out I fail to discover anything notable. Fortunately the call was relatively brief, because I was feeling terse, and the council woman’s simpering* failed to stretch it out more than a minute or two.

So a day that was disappointing and occasionally inconvenient.

* “Simpering” being the wrong word, as it means “To utter or express with a silly, self-conscious, often coy smile” – which doesn’t really work for ‘phone conversations. But I’m sure you know what I mean. Annoying mock ingratiation. Limp, overblown apologies. Generally being a bit like a lettings agent. That kind of thing.


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