This morning has been preposterous, there was nothing to redeem it.

Firstly, the shower, having been fixed a few days ago, is now broken again, meaning I must take baths once more. This is enough to make me want to bash my head against the wall.

Secondly, my Dad got a delivery today, and no-one was answering the door so the task fell to me. I opened the door, wearing nothing but a dressing gown, and saw that the delivery man was just about to leave. When he saw me, he said, “I’ve got a long thingy for you.”

I mean, that was the first thing he said. Not, “I’m so sorry to disturb you,” or “good morning,” or even anything normal that you might expect a delivery man to say. I think it was supposed to be a joke, but it bitterly pissed me off.

The dog, who reaches the heights of insanity when anyone knocks at the door, was nearing epilepsy in her eagerness to run outside and maul this attacker, but despite his unfortunate sentence sending shivers of rage down my spine (he even said it twice in case I hadn’t heard him) I decided it was wise not to let her have him, and called my father (who works in an office at the bottom of the garden, and is only contactable by phone).

Herein lies another joy, since this morning I blocked my phone trying to enter the PIN. And this all before half past eight in the morning. Am I destined to have such hideous mornings for the rest of my life? Why are they always so unceasingly miserable?

Getting out of bed has long been an arch-nemesis of mine. Is it just me, or does everyone feel like the undead when they manage, finally, to drag themselves from under the warm sanctuary of the duvet?

As if this horrible shock isn’t bad enough, you then have to go through further indignities before you can put it all behind you and get on with the day.

For instance, Chris Moyles. The radio wakes me up in the morning, and it is his voice which I hear first in the day. This really has to change! I’m thinking murderous thoughts anyway, towards all around me, but they converge particularly strongly on him. Worse is when he’s off for whatever reason, and they let that monkey Scott Mills out of his cage. He really ought to have been shot to protect the nation’s sanity a long time ago.

Next you have to go through the whole bathroom ritual. If it’s free, there is no hot water, and if there is, you have to shave. Shave! I hate shaving! It takes so long and the mirror is always misted up so you can’t see what you’re doing. Plus the razor goes from sharp to blunt over the course of a second, so you end up pushing harder then cutting yourself, and faces bleed for an eternity!

Once that is over you have to face breakfast. My stomach normally refuses, pointblank, to be fed in the morning, so I can only ever manage a banana. And have you noticed about bananas that eating them is ridiculous? If you chew them, they put up all the resistance of a wet paper towel so you feel a complete fool chewing the air, but if you try to swallow them whole, they become bricks in your throat.

And then you have to talk to people with your voice and brain — neither of which are working yet, so you sound like a crazed madman.

Still, I’ve just looked up and seen a rainbow, so maybe I should have hope.

Hello. The following post is a bit gross, therefore I am not subjecting it to anyone who doesn’t want to read it by accident. Therefore, to view the following, you have to select the text. This way, it’s your fault if you read it :)

Well, this morning, I woke up to see the cat sitting on my desk, quite happily being sick. I saw a big long line of brown sick fall out of her mouth, go behind the radiator and then all over the floor. It sort of went “spit spat spit spit spit” and then she got up and walked away. Dirty cow! I took pictures, and went back to sleep. Later on today she came back into my room, and had a look at what she had done. She went over and sniffed at the sick, before starting to eat it. I had left it to dry so that it would be easier to clean up, but she saved me the job! Bless her cottons…