When you want everything to go wrong

Sometimes I want to have a shitawful day.

Maybe I imagine a truly wretched day will justify the feelings I have. Like when you feel miserable and wronged. You stare out the window to see the grey clouds deepen, then gratifyingly the rain pisses down. Now even the earth feels your pain. It knows your sorrows. It says I understand. You can weep, together. So you are right to feel crap. The whole crapness is justified. Sanctioned and approved, you can go make miserable faces at innocent bystanders, crawl home, hit the bottle, know that the English weather system is your friend.

But it never happens like that. Just when I want to feel righteously miserable, the bloody sun shines and the sodding birds are all tweettweettweet I'm so cute. I could kick cats.

I try and make things right. I goad the children with a few provocative pointed words. I threaten to humiliate myself in the high street so I can watch everyone cringe.

Shark, Squirrel and Tiger, they're having none of it. They run past me and ignore me, then skip along the pavement all trafalala, and off into a secondhand bookshop where they choose worthy kid lit. I try and foist some formula trash onto Tiger, so I can scoff mercilessly at brave ponies and magic kittens. She ignores me. All she's interested in is Rudyard Bloody Kipling.

If it can't get any worse, no-one complains about the dry bread and water I throw about me at the picnic lunch in the playground. Then no-one utters a murmur of disobedience when I grump and mutter that it's time to leave the park so hurry up.

The final blow to my temper is this.




Typical. Now I have to leave this hall all big smiles and playful disposition; joyfully engaging with enthusiastic kids bouncing along with the possibility of puppetry; invigorated by the infinite possibilities of latex, clay, foam fingers and stringed hair; all filled with energy and spirit.

Rats. I cannot escape. I'm itching antsinthepants to get home and make puppets from potatoes and garlic. There is only one source of all this carefree happiness. Blame Theatre of Widdershins with their brilliantly funny puppets and wonderful talk. Now find where they're on, and book your tickets for a fantastically rollicking good time. It's so right.

Bum.

Sodding well enthused.