What set me off on my day of misery was the glass in my sandwich. Luckily I felt it with my teeth first, and didn’t swallow it or I may well have been writing this from hospital. I can only imagine the inconvenience of swallowing glass, though I expect this is nothing compared to the awkwardness of dealing with it at the other end.
Anyway, I didn’t swallow it.
I did, however, lose any vestige of cheeriness my day may have contained.
This wasn’t just because of the glass, but as it was in a sandwich with cheese, pickle and seeded bread I don’t know who to blame. I may write to all three of them. I am 60 you know, and I’m allowed to complain. I’ve spent the last thirty years practising for being a miserable old git; it would be a shame to let it go to waste.
My attitude is further darkened by the fact I cut one of my fingers whilst cooking. That’s an occupational hazard, the really annoying thing is that it’s my typing finger and the plaster keeps causing typos.
Anyway, must go now, as I have a meal to serve.
Assuming that it’s cooked properly and doesn’t poison us I will probably burn myself.
It’s been that sort of a day.