Black Dog Day

I have to tell you about last Wednesday - one of those days when, if it can go wrong, it bloody well will.

I awoke with a headache but that was nobody's fault by mine. I took milk, juice, eggs and whatever else a person needs to get going in the mornings. I showered then answered the door to a bailiff, come to take away my possessions in lieu of taxes. He left with a cheque for $900 instead which I now need to claim back in this mess o' red tape. (They can't fine you more than you owe and I am certain that I owe zero - I was either working abroad or back here on P.A.Y.E. for the year in question.)

I tried to go to Holland for a meeting. I'd begged to fly from Bristol Airport because it's ten miles from my house. Roadworks cost me thirty minutes and I waited nineteen more for the every-twenty-minutes bus from the car park to the terminal. When I got there, there was still twenty minutes til take-off but the flight was boarding and I couldn't check-in.



I was booked on the next available flight at no extra cost, which makes me suspect the first one was over quota. But I wasn't about to argue. You make your own luck to a degree: if you start shouting at people because you're having a bad time, you're probably going to make things worse for yourself. I smiled and whistled Black Dog by Led Zeppelin. The (same) bus driver said I looked upbeat for a man who just missed a flight.

I went home for a cuppa. I called Alice to laugh at my luck so far. I called my doctor to be told my repeat prescription had been ready for four days. The drugs are good but they don't make me psychic! I'd been 'clean' for ten days by then, which is like Winalot Prime to a black dog. So I took my 'smack' and made my flight on time the second time.