Yesterday was not a very good day. So I'll share it with you. For that is basically what blogs are for, let's face it.
First up, I had to wrestle with an ink cartridge that said it was compatible with our printer. Well, when I say it said it was compatible, it was actually the box it came in that said it. And what a lying little box it was. For the Ryman 3039 is not actually compatible with a HP 2575 Photosmart. Take it from me. Next time anyone asks, tell them to steer clear.
So, off to WH Smiths for supplies. Huge displays behind the counter saying 'Ink-jet Cartridges' all over them. Five minute wait while the assistant goes to get a bigger bag for the lady in front of me, buying loads of Xmas themed 'necessities'. My turn at last, after elaborate sighing routine appears eventually to have worked. "I would like to buy an ink-jet cartridge". Nope. Can't. They don't sell Hewlett Packard. Nor, it seems, after a long puzzled wander round dodging the shoplifters, does the crappy Curry's a few doors along. So, it had to be the ultimate horror, the worst way to pass a long hour spending £13. Yes, that's right, Argos.
Moses in the wilderness could not have been more patient, and he at least had manna from heaven to pass the time. I, unluckily, only had tinny 80s soul funk hits to sustain me. With heavy heart I embarked on the long routine to buy one low value item. Located code for intended purchase after ten minute search in enormous catalogue with teeeeeeeny writing and pages missing. Then 2 mins to find little blue biro - that worked. Placed order after 25 minutes of queuing. And sighing. Got ticket. Joy in 5 mins, I was assured. Joined jostling crowd of pram-waving, expectant consumers to wait for appearance. Er, actually it was twenty plus. An irate man next to me was shouting "How long does it take you to find a [-edit-] Christmas tree?"
I am clearly not cut out for this kind of urban living. I have banned everyone from using the printer. Or only if they promise to get the [-edit-] cartridges themselves next time.
Scene 2: Evening. Interior. Exasperated member of consuming public is sitting by a dinner table. Table is empty. Consumer is I, and is now consuming wine, exhibiting versatility unsuspected by Argos, by talking. And pointing. At lots of things which are probably moving. But invisible. Dish approaches table. It is carried by wife. It contains lentils and is an improvised, Indian-style daal.
Wife: "The hard lumpy bits are coriander seeds. I thought they might take away the taste of the lentils."
Husband (pointing): "Aagh."
Cut.
All this on top of Jake's first attempt to play the cornet in months. He doesn't like his new teacher. Pa-a-r-p went the cornet. Br-r-r-r went my spine, too saddened to shiver. I stayed in my office, sheltering from the assault. My daughter was sent in by her mother. "Mummy says: can you hear Jake practice?" "Yes," I replied. "I can. That is why I am in here."
So you see the supper was the last straw. Perhaps I can file for divorce on grounds of lentil cruelty.