Friday, 21 December 2007

Looking for a festive spirit

Even with a plastic tree and two sets of fairy lights, one set being in a tangled heap at the top of the stairs, I am having difficulty getting into the festive spirit here at the Pile. I wonder if this has anything to do with the following?

Dig, just back from Bahrain, is worried about how he is going to get to India for the 2nd of January. Apparently, visa offices close down over Christmas and New Year. Can you imagine that? Inconsiderate sods.

I ring up a car shop to get the Renault Clio ignition coil sorted. Don't tell me you forgot we have a broken-down car sitting outside the house which is somehow my responsibility to mend? This is the car that Big Bro lent to me after I smashed up the Berlingo. Anyway, I ring up and ask how much it is to fit a new ignition coil. I get a pissed off receptionist who informs me that it might not be the ignition coil. I tell her it is. I say I trust my brother's diagnosis; my brother who offered me a broken down car with three dodgy tyres. Pissed off receptionist says it's none of my business doing a diagnostic test. If I want a diagnosis I'll bloody well pay a garage mechanic £44 for the privilege, so there. I tell her to shove it. After I put the phone down, of course. It puts me in a bad mood all day long.

Dig's data disk breaks down. It breaks down big time. It won't even flash, or wink. We may have lost two years work. Don't ask, 'Did you take a back-up?'

Big Bro now says he will come round to fetch the Clio. The Clio was going fine until it started flashing an engine sign at me on the A5. Any car that flashes any type of engine light at me may as well put out a big notice saying STOP! STOP NOW OR YOU ARE GOING TO DIE. Strangely, recalling a car accident and the insurance paperwork for it that is still sitting on top of the non-working radio in the kitchen makes me feel depressed.

While I'm heading down that tunnel of misery, I'll pass the hall mirror to stare at my reflection and consider that my age is now possibly 67 thanks to the grey hair. I conclude I am past everything.

At 9.40pm this evening the toilet waste pipe falls off in my hands. This is the toilet waste pipe installed in the new bathroom less than two months ago at a cost of 5K. You're wondering why I was holding the toilet waste pipe in the first place, aren't you? Wonder on. It's the sort of thing I just have to do.

No comments: