Mondays!

While I am not the most superstitious of people, I don't like Friday the 13th, I don't like breaking mirrors, I touch wood (mind out of there please!), and, mostly, like a certain lasagne eating cat - I hate Mondays.

If you read my twitter stuff over there to the right (-->) you will see that in the few hours I have been up, it's been great fun.

It started in the shower - while scrubbing myself down with bleach (us fatties smell apparently) I somehow managed to catch the lightbulb on the outside of the shower curtain, punched through it, and it shattered, showering broken glass and hot elements into the bath I am standing in, and all over the floor on the outside of the bath. On the flip side, it only took about half an hour to get the glass bits out of my feet. No cuts or gashes, just punctures.

Lucky for me I have hobbit feet I suppose.

While wrapped in a towel and bleeding slightly, I checked around for Dipstick again. He's gone wandering, and while he's occasionally gone for 24-36 hours, I've not seen any sign of him since Friday night when he skipped off down the garden, refusing to come in. Hopefully, he's in a shed or garage somewhere...

When I got in last night (after midnight, so it counts as Monday) I was hit by a rather icky stink. Worse than the usual icky stink in the house. Clicking on the light, thinking Sally has had an accident, I am met by something out of a... well, I don't know what... Judging by the puddles and patties around, she had some sort of stomach bug that flushed her out both ends.

Took me half an hour to clean up, spray, wipe, bag, clean, wash... Went upstairs, finally sat down... Only to hear the deep-throated wretching, followed by the sound of thick liquid hitting tiles. SO glad I didn't let her upstairs. I sat with her downstairs for a while, took away her food and just watched her while tapping away on the laptop, and she seemed fine for a while, and *touch wood* hasn't been ill since.

Then, this morning again, Mr Postman drops a letter on the doormat from the bank, a "please give us a call" dealio. I call them as asked, go through the week-long security questions, and get asked to confirm that I want to be removed from the account me and Jo had. "Hu-wha?" is a close approximation of what I replied, after spending three quarters of an hour with Jo in the bank a few weeks back to get her removed... Human Error, the lady said. "I'll pop a new form in the post to you"

Yeah, you do that.

And, last but not least, I get a call from Jo this morning. "Everything alright? Been trying to call you and you've not replied to my texts."

"Hu-wha?" is my response. My phone is on, beside me, quietly mulling away it's time on my pine desk, contributing to polluting the airways with it's signal. I pick it up, shake it (as manly men do), turn it off and on and off again, poke it, open it, look at the battery, wiggle the sim card, close it, turn it on. Seem fine. However, now that it's mentioned... I've not had any texts from ANYONE in... hmmm two days apparently. And no phone calls either.

"Well I get a ring tone when calling you" she tells me, and promptly dials my number. Yep, she gets a ringing tone her end, but nowt here. So if you're calling me, texting me or otherwise harassing, stalking or insulting me, ner ner!

I think I will just sit now, after calling Orange, and not move lest anything else explodes, vomits, craps, breaks, or otherwise screws up.

OH - and I forgot - I think I have Ruths cold coming. Thanks darlin. Such a good friend...