Getting into gear for 2015

Borat
Borat

There’s a reason Mondays are the bully-boys of the working week. Mondays are what Murphy’s Law was destined for, the ultimate ‘butter-side-down-side’ of the week. Take yesterday – please take yesterday.

Between meetings I had enough time to enter the labyrinth that is IKEA to buy the cheapest double wall cupboard they have for our stables’ tack room. Apparently you can’t just go into the warehouse bit and pick up the box and pay, you have to go to an assistant on kitchens first, look pointlessly at a computer, have a piece of paper printed off, then go to the warehouse bit, find the box and then pay at the check out.

After 40 minutes wait for the assistant processing someone else (me third in the growing line) she explained to her current customers they would now have to go to the warehouse together, and walked off. Leaving six people in a queue with no hint of when she’d be back. We wandered about a bit, trying to find someone else dressed like a children’s TV presenter who might be able to help. The one colleague on the floor with another customer was just walking off and said he had ‘no idea’ where anyone was.

Suffice to say, I feigned serious illness so convincingly a very young brightly-dressed Timmy Mallet on lighting, next door, agreed to show me a direct route out of the store before I puked on a YAKITUP breakfast bar and stools combo.

Free, but cupboard-less, I did my second meeting and drove home. Some time later the husband returned with a knob in his hand. I know what you’re thinking. Things are looking up. Sadly not. The gear stick, actually, of his beloved classic Land Rover, Borat. It had parted company with the bowl of porridge it manipulates into randomly stabbing a gear – and come off in his hand. He’d driven home using a pair of mole grips to keep him in, he thinks, second gear, chatting to joggers as they ran past him laughing. Yes, I know what you’re thinking now. What the hell are mole grips. I don’t ask.

So we settled down for a spot of dinner, and all the lights went out. The whole village, for two hours. We celebrated with two underdone baked potatoes, a bit of cheese and a warming diet Coke each by romantic candlelight.

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