Sliding Into Tuesday

I have bitched about Housemate Pat’s cooking habits before.
At length.
This morning I had to endure something that smelt like fishy poultry, which I can only imagine is Seagull, and something else that smelled like burnt hair.
Just to lighten my mood further, a sheen of grease had been left on the floor which led to my Tom Cruise ‘Risky Business’ slide straight past the fucking kettle and into the cupboards.
I caught my funny bone at such a painful angle; nothing was left to me other than the scream of,
“You Cunts!”
Restrained I felt; seeing as what I actually wanted to do was smash up the rice cooker thing with a lump hammer, in an act of pure, roaring rage.

Cousin Markus came round and I got to meet his daughter!
She is a little sweetie.
Sat on her Mum’s lap, as quiet as you like and watched United beat Arsenal.
Something I can never see too many times and good training for the child.

Somehow, during a moment of total weakness and obvious amnesia, I have been signed up and PAID for a fucking Tai Chi class!
How and when did that happen?

There is an ‘Awareness Week’ for everything now!
I have to admit to actually approving of this one.