I'm Having A Bad Day

Up early, slightly hungover after "just a couple of shandies" whist watching the England game turned a bit messy.

Walking the dog round the local park trod in something I shouldn't have, something left there by another dog. Can you guess what it was if I tell you the colour? Suffice to say it wasn't any of the very rare these days white stuff.

I think that the local Indian must have left the back door open again, and that Great Dane from No 64 helped himself to several large buckets of prawn Madras that they'd left out for the binmen.

They were a new pair of trainers those as well. I was going to chuck them, but on second thoughts I might put them in for the next Egyptian wheat tender, you never know.

And now something keeps "dinging" upstairs. Every thirty seconds or so. Buried deep inside the kids' bedrooms somewhere. Like the noise you get in Asda before the call for a colleague from Home and Leisure to go to the customer service desk, where a man clutching a five year old sandwich toaster wants to know if he can have his money back "cos this one's got stuff stuck to it".

There it goes again. Where did I put that hammer?