Tuesday, 13 November 2012


Yesterday, I imprisoned The Boyfriend in our flat.  This was not due to some newfound sadistic tendency, but as a result of being downright stupid. From the top…

My tin can car has, up to this point, served me very well. Other people enjoy the comfort of their mod cons - CD players and electric windows and whatever else comes in a modern motor - but I have always been quite happy with trusty Eileen getting me from A to B without sounding like she’s in danger of dissembling about my seat.  But I’m sad to report that as time wears on, she is becoming increasingly less convincing at doing this.  Her most recent ailment is a violent growl.  Problemo. 

So yesterday, The Boyfriend kindly leant me his lovely car. I jovially trotted off to work to embark on a new day and, as I was beavering away setting up the day’s inspirational learning opportunities, he was frantically trying to call me to say I’d done a runner with his house keys.  Oblivious to his distress, I then happily welcomed thirty smiling faces whilst he was in dire straits because he had to summon the balls to ring The Boss to inform him of the situation.  The Boss was thankfully reasonably understanding considering the circumstances, however The Boyfriend was forced to take a day’s holiday which he didn’t want and was then confined to a foodless flat.  Oops.  

As a result, today I have been slapped around the face with a hefty, wet karma fish. Nothing has gone right. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Nothing! Not one thing. Nada! Appalling day.

So I am going to put a car at the top of my Christmas list in the hope that this doesn't happen again.

Sunday, 4 November 2012


I was just about to put fingers to keys to write an enthralling blog entitled ‘Reasons why I hate my printer’ when I was rudely stopped in my tracks.

The hoodwinking hunk of junk has done nothing other than piss me off today.  This printer’s point blank refusal to do anything is definitely one of very few things in life which manages to inspire true rage in me. What’s the point in being a printer if you refuse to print? THERE IS NO POINT!

Every time it pretended it was going to do something helpful, I allowed myself to feel a glimmer of hope and then, sensing my clenched fists relaxing, it would stop altogether and laugh in my face. “Hahahaha you thought I was actually going to PRINT something! You FOOL!” CURSES!!!

Feeling mightily riled, I decided I would write a damning review of the hp psc 1350 all-in-one (crap name), just in case you ever see one and are tempted to try and coax it into working.  If you were ever to have the misfortune of coming across one, you would look at it, probably be impressed by its memory card slot on the front as I was, remember said review and remind yourself not to be lured in by its good looks.  You would not be conned and you would be saved from hours of hassle.  Being of an attractive azure hue DOES NOT MAKE YOU GOOD AT YOUR JOB.

Anyway, I think I shocked it into action by claiming that if it didn’t start sucking the effing paper up I’d stab myself with a pencil. 

Regrettably, I am sad to say therefore that ‘Reasons why I hate my printer’ is left unwritten.  I can’t believe it has even denied me of this high calibre anecdote. 

Try that charade again, hp, and you won’t live to stop me telling the tale.