From the domestic front...

There are just too many things winding me up today. I actually can't decide which one to rant about: the Jan Moir/ Press Complaints Commission Twitter storm makes my blood pressure rise just thinking about it (not a bad thing, at one level, as it makes me less likely to pass out - but it also makes me want to start bombing Wandsworth, and invading random bits of central Europe); the BA chief suggesting that people only travel because they 'need' to is clearly delusional (did I mention I live under the Heathrow flight path? Over the summer, when I was feeling really ill, the noise levels were reducing me to tears several times a week); and the X-factor infestation (Cheryl Cole and the one who isn't Leona are apparently set for joint chart domination) makes me wish that I could just unplug the country and leave it to rot...

So I'll rant about the little things instead.

Like the fact that my laptop and our wireless thingummy decided to stop talking to one another this afternoon, just at the point when I was too tired to walk to the kitchen to see if it could be fixed.

And I finally got a cheque from HM Revenue & Customs (who had closed my tax records for last year without even sending me a tax return, even though it was inevitable that they owed me money) - made out to my married name, when all of my bank accounts are still in my maiden name.

And I made it to Senate House library today for the first time in months - only to find that they have moved all of the English books to an area which for all of the natural light it has could well be in a nuclear bunker (it's on the 6th floor of a building in Bloomsbury). And they had lost the book that I gone there to pick up.

And I unleashed some kind of hideous chemical cloud over W14 by turning on our heating this evening; not realising that my Dad had not turned off the radiator in our spare room before painting it.

And my husband is incapable of planning even 24 hours ahead. This morning he had to take clothes into work for a function this evening (something which he had known about for months) - and with about 3 minutes to go before he needed to be out the door he was clambering around with a step ladder hunting for a particular club tie, and then turning about a dozen shoes out of a holdall trying to find a pair of black lace ups which didn't have holes in the bottom ...



(Not the Senate House library, although you can only tell because the library currently has signs everywhere telling you that's where you are. It could, however, be where my husband's shoes have gone...)