It's A Wonderful Life...
As weeks go, the last one was a turkey of gargantuan proportions, able to trot for miles before laying its enormous egg.
Monday: Due to a bath overflow, the ceiling below fell in. Many telephone calls to insurers later, loss adjusters were apppointed to inspect the resultant damage, presumably in case I was lying about the bits of ceiling floating on the water-logged carpet.
Tuesday: Loss adjusters arrived. Thank God for small mercies as both gentlemen charming and helpful and declared the ruined hallway would require a new ceiling, new carpet (on floor, obviously) and re-decorating. All was going swimmingly until one asked to check out utility room next to hall for flood damage. Opened door onto vision of Hell, comprising large pile of buckets and cleaning equipment in manner of Tracy Emin exhibit, selection of paint tins (dug out of cupboard three weeks ago when filled with short-lived enthusiasm for re-decorating dining room), ironing basket size of small bungalow and cat litter tray that resembled an IRA dirty protest.) Much note-taking by loss adjuster. Suspect entry read: "Total slattern."
Wednesday: Curt telephone call from son's school informing me that if he sneaked onto the school bus again (he gets the normal, public transport variety as it is a third of the cost) there would be SERIOUS REPERCUSSIONS.
Thursday: Realised Mother's Day on Sunday. Sent card via Moonpig website, hoping that personalised variety would make up for lack of present (no money, must keep back ÃÂ£ÃÂ£ÃÂ£ to pay excess for blasted insurance claim.)
Friday: Faffed for one hour about making complex Tarte au Pommes dessert. Put in oven. Two hours later, still not cooked. Checked recipe. Advised said Tarte would take 20 minutes at 220ÃÂ°C. It appears heating element of oven has broken. Marvellous.
Saturday: Received threatening letter from Halifax informing me that I was 9p in debt and they would therefore be sending round the bailiffs forthwith. Twitter friend suggested I wait for bailiffs and pay them with fluid ounce of milk/half a slice of bread/three and a half sweets. Very tempting.
Sunday: Breakfast in bed (scrambled eggs on toast) and fabulous hand-made card for Mother's Day from offspring. Joy.
By the way, I apologise for my abbreviated style of writing, but once you join Twitter it's addictive.