This is ridiculous. I'm being defeated by a mechanical pencil. Why must I own a mechanical pencil? Why can't I put the damn thing back together properly? Why is life so terrible?
I console myself with hot cross buns, twelve for £1.50 at the Co-op. Splendid. Not sure why they're so well stocked with hot cross buns in January, but I don't have a problem with it.
Am I the only one who assumed that Salinger was already long dead? Last person I asked replied, "For all his productivity, he may as well have been." Which I thought was perhaps a little harsh. Damn freeloading nonagenarians! Ah well, hardly the most depressing news I've encountered this week. "A man suffered a fractured skull when he was attacked with a crowbar during a robbery at a maggot farm in Lancashire." Not only do we have maggot farms, but people who are prepared to use potentially deadly violence to rob the bloody things. It's all go.
Still closer to home and following Sunday dinner with the family, I've just burned myself on a cup of tea that I made before going for a shower and left to cool. Dad, in his words, has, "...fixed the kettle, the way it should have been made in the first place". Brilliant.
I decided not to include in this entry a rant about the evil nature of the five-day week I don't work. Maybe next time.