Not happy

I'm not happy, readers. Not one little bit.

The Devil has been using my handbag for his own defaecation lately and it's about time it stopped. I've had three episodes of bad luck recently and I'm hoping I've seen the end of it.

Episode one involved a rather nasty infection which saw me ending up spending 20 hours in hospital attached to a drip and being pumped full of antibiotics. I got no sleep, the food was atrocious (not that I had an appetite) and I was well and truly out of my comfort zone. All better now, though.

Episode two centres around a bizarre pain in my left foot. Don't expect to see me appearing in my own autobiographical film any time soon. It's been so painful that I've had to have time off work as I can't fully weight bear without swearing like a navvy. A scan result showed peroneal tendonosis (chronic degeneration) as well as a ganglion. I'm having an injection under Xray next week.

Episode three is the most painful. Without going into too much detail I have been successfully sued by a previous tenant of my spacious abode in sunny Leytonstone. It's all to do with damage caused, a deposit not refunded and some new law which means that the slack tart who caused the damage got not only her deposit returned but over £2000 to go with it. Yes, that's three zeros. The agent managed to fit himself out in a Teflon suit and got off Scott free. Needless to say I'm in the process of changing agents as I type.

A more minor irritation happened when I inadvertently wiped a couple of ring tones from my mobile. These included my TARDIS and 'exterminate' tones. I am not happy. Not.

Anyhoo. Let's end on a high. I leave you with Bizkit, the sleeping dog. He makes me happy.