It’s going to be one of those days!

When I was a little girl my Gran used to say. ‘Carol, it’s going to be one of those days.’ And I knew the minute I woke up this morning I was going to have one of those days.

The minute I opened my eyes my dream came flooding back to me. I dreamt I was on holiday with Alan Carr ‘Chatty Man’ and he pushed me in the pool. White Dee coaxed me out with a benefit book worth £55 per week. I then found myself in a supermarket in the drinks isle and I proceeded to swig out of different bottles. The supermarket manager breathalysed me with a giant spirit level then he dragged me in the office, where he showed me the video of me steeling the booze. When I saw myself on camera I turned to him and said. ‘They say the camera adds ten pounds.’

He turns to me and says. ‘I think it’s a lot more than that.’

I strip the bed and walk into the kitchen and put the dirty sheets in the washer. I suddenly realised I can’t find my phone. Harry starts to lecture me. ‘If it’s in the washer is defiantly broken.’  I look at the washer door to see if I could see it going round with all the soap suds, but nothing. Harry rang my number and we could hear the ringing was coming from the bin, he lifted the lid and sure enough it was inside the bin in an empty tin of dog food. I carefully took it off him and rinsed it under the tap as Harry watched open mouthed. He was so annoyed he couldn’t speak I made a quick exit out of the kitchen, when I return a few minutes later I can see he had put my marmalade face pack from Lush on his toast, I decide it is better at this point to keep my mouth shut.

When the post arrives we had a letter to say a certain bill hadn’t been paid and I distinctly know I had paid the bill, so I decide to get on the phone and give them a piece of my mind. When I get through I’m told I’m currently number 19 in the queue, I knew I would be on the phone for a few minutes so I pluck a few hairs that are hanging from my chin, with a week to go before Christmas I’m determined not to look like Chewbacca when I’m eating my Christmas dinner. I make a cup of coffee and watch terrible TV where a woman had an affair with her daughter’s son, which technically was her grandson. I was glad when the message kicked in to tell me I was no number 14 in the queue otherwise my thoughts of the show were running away with me. Forty minutes later and I’m number 11 in the queue. I check my emails and I’m pleased the order that I’ve been tracking is currently on route for delivery. I’m now number 8 in the queue. I text my friend and I’m now number 3 in the queue. I have a quick look at my social media site and I’m number 2 in the queue. I wait with baited breath and concentrate on the call and I’m number 1 in the queue. Then I hear the long drone of the cut off tone. I jump up and start shouting at the phone and using obscene language. The dog started barking distracting me from my mini nervous breakdown and when I go into the hallway there’s a card on the floor that says. ‘Sorry you were out when we tried to deliver your parcel. Please leave it 24 hours and you can collect it from the post office.’

Harry walks into the kitchen and he’s shaking a paper at me; has the man gone completely mad? He points to an advert with his hands shaking. I don’t know what I’m looking at so I shrug my shoulders.  He’s seething as he says. ‘Carol I asked you to put this advert in for me, look at it.’ I read the advert. ‘White man and van for hire’ I realise it should read ‘White van and man for hire’

I sit on the lounge and sip on my Bacardi breezer, so what if it’s only 11.am!