First the water was shut off, so that's no shower and no cup of tea. The bread was mouldy so no toast, no breakfast. Then I discover my invoices had gone astray and my net connection was cut off. A few hours on the phone sorting that out, too. Then I try uploading that John Simm football docco again. It's steady as she goes and this time, fer sure, I think. Only it's going to take 15 hours and I get kicked off after eight again. Arrrgh.
Okay, how about some fic? Nope, there's a whole discussion on how bad LOM fic is, with my name mentioned, so that's cut me off at the knees. Gene too mean? Sam too girlie? Guilty as charged, I guess. So that's the end of that (sensitive petal that I am).
So it's 4pm and I'm still in my pyjamas and bloody miserable. It's wet so I can't hide in the garden, either, and the yard seems so weirdly bare and tiny.
There's only one thing for it: I'm going to watch Blackpool. Save me, David, with that voodoo you do so well.