Yes, yes – life is good and we’re all alive and we’re lucky to have a house/job/child etc. I know all that. But still, when I spend a day off from my tedious job working instead on rubbing back rotten windows, watching the dust and grime float indiscriminately over the surfaces I cleaned only two days ago, leaving as it does so an indelible layer of nastiness which will probably bring on at least another burst of my stupid finger problem (wherein my fingers develop tiny blisters, go bright red, peel, and generally feel as if I’ve had at them with a belt sander) as well as intriguing a tiny person who shouldn’t really learn about the ingestion of dust just yet, I feel, and then, THEN, I spend two hours – TWO HOURS of time, which means having the tiny daughter otherwise occupied, and ignoring the need to clean up, and ignoring the fact that we’ve got no food in the house, the washing is piling up, the place is really quite filthy and the sodding, sodding windows have no glass in them when heavy rain is forecast – THEN, I spend two hours copy-editing (for which read: completely rewriting) an interminably dull and terribly-written document about the World Trade Organisation only to have Word crash not once but twice (thus eating the auto-recovery file for afters, and leaving me bereft of the two hours of work), meaning I have about six thousand words to go, when I had literally just finished the last footnote on the last page, I feel quite pissed off, frankly.

Today has not been a good day, folks.

Did I mention that I’m fat and ugly? And skint?