Today marks the 1 week anniversary of one of the cackest days of recent times. To say it was my 9/11 would border on sensationalism, but sometimes you have to bite the bullet and say "Yes, today was as bad for me as for the 5 thousand or so victims of the Bush administration's attempts to put a pipeline into Afghanistan. Or summat."
It started off with something that's never happened to me before, but the increasing economic downturn leaves me open to further attacks. Some (and I choose my words carefully at this point) complete and utter fuckbag nicked all of the petrol out of the company car I was borrowing for the day. Cheers, you thieving shitehawk - you could have left me enough to get to the station. Twat.
The recovery gent who attended (for ninety quid, mind) told me it was happening all the time, and that Halifax is the epicentre of this particular phenomenon. Not high on the list of life's big surprises, I thought.
Anyway, £5 of fuel later and I'm on my way to Manchester, on a thankfully uneventful trip. Having said that, some uber-gimp in a Porsche Cayenne nearly rear-ended me and celebrated skidding round the queuing traffic by giving me a right mouthful. I still fail to see the correlation between his myopia and it being my fault. Luckily his wife began to kick off with him so he literally had to pull to the side of the road while she gave him a bollocking. Serves him right.
A few minutes later and I'm parked up and on my way, walking through the streets. I know what you're thinking - "But nobody's sneezed on you yet". Patience is a virtue, my friend, as no sooner had I stepped out of the car park than some prick sneezed at me. Picture the scene: we're walking past each other in opposite directions with him engrossed in a phone call when he stops dead and holds his hands out. Assuming he was about to embrace me as a long-lost relative, I took a side step, only for him to open it up nasal-style. Had I continued my original path I would have been coated Venkman-style, but my cat-like nimbility avoided a case of emphysema. Calling him a 'dirty bastard' didn't seem to make much difference, but he was on his mobile and iPod at the same time, so it's only right to cut him some slack.
After an uneventful couple of hours doing some actual work I headed home and was nearly taken off the road by some students in a Punto not paying attention to basic road signs. By now I was used to it, and laughed at their pitiful attempts to frighten me. Maybe they had a gun. Maybe they were high. Maybe they were saying 'braap'. We will never know.
So there it is; a complete donkey's arse of a day. Given that the best suggestion the loaner of the car could offer was 'get a taxi to the nearest petrol station and hire a can' (cheers for that, pillock) I can count myself lucky I didn't get killed or raped or worse. It makes you think, though; one minute, you're cruising through life in your own little world and the next, somebody punches you in the face for sneezing near them. Scary stuff.
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