I’m in a foul mood.
It started on Friday night when Herself insisted on watching that prat Pat ‘The Plank’ Kenny.
He is a very bad start to a weekend.
The mood sort of hovered around the “don’t touch me or I’ll kill you” level yesterday, but I managed to keep it under control.
This morning I got up. It has to be a better day. But no. I still feel like killing something.
Even God is against me. He’s pissing on me. I was standing at the kitchen window, waiting for the kettle to boil, when there was a bang that made me jump, and made Sandy scurry for cover. It was rain. It just came out of nowhere. One second, it was fine, and the next second I couldn’t see the hedge the other side of the garden. It lasted about thirty seconds and stopped as suddenly as it started. I swear it was God having a leak. I hope that’s all He does….
I have to go up to Dublin tomorrow, and that’s not adding to my cheery state.
I have to be in St Vincent’s Hospital at four. That in itself is no problem, though it means going near RTE, and that is going to make my trigger finger itch like hell. What it does mean, is that I’m going to be stuck in the rush-hour going home. And that is something I’m dreading.
The only thing that is cheering me is that that little sh*t Bertie is going to be up The Mountains this week opening a flash hotel [€5,000 a night?????] and I am going to do my best to be there to murder the little w*nk*r.