King Whinge.

Here’s a list of Monday’s little woes:

I woke up this morning to the delights of a chest infection. You know what chest infections are like – your chest is sore, your throat is sore, you’re running a bit of a temperature, you cough frequently and with some discomfort, and you feel low as an empty crisp packet in a Rochdale gutter. I assumed it was probably something to do with germs breeding like rabbits now that the temperature has risen quite a bit, while my defences are at rock bottom courtesy of having been almost perpetually chilled for the past couple of weeks. Hey, ho; move on.

At around 10.30 the water pressure in the house dropped dramatically and then ceased altogether. No water. I soon learned from the supplier’s website that there were major issues the length and breadth of the kingdom occasioned by the sudden rise in temperature following very cold conditions. I needed to go out, so I decided to let that one lie for the time being.

When I got to the car I discovered a crack in the windscreen. It was about two inches long. By the time I’d done my shopping in Uttoxeter it had grown to nine inches. This will have to be dealt with.

The water was still off when I got back and I spent two and a half hours (with the chest infection raging, you understand) trying to get a simple answer to a simple question from Severn Trent Water: Do you have an estimated time for the water supply to be resumed? After two and a half hours I finally received an answer: ‘No. We have teams working on the problem but they haven’t reported back yet.’ It seems amusing in retrospect; it didn’t at the time.

Then I took my courage in both hands and rang my GP to see whether they’d had the results from my last CT scan. It was done seventeen days ago and they should have had the results by now. The woman I spoke to seemed evasive. Her voice had that edge to it which suggested that she knew something but didn’t want to tell me. I assumed I was being paranoid. She told me that she couldn’t find any tests results and would have to consult with her colleague. Six minutes later she came back and said I would have to ring the hospital. ‘But the hospital said I should call you for the results,’ I protested. ‘No, you’ll have to ring the hospital yourself.’ She gave me the general number and I called it. The recorded announcements gave me several options, the most appropriate of which was ‘switchboard.’ I selected it and waited… and waited… and waited. Eventually I rang off and am still none the wiser.

That’s how my life has been for a long time now. I’m not living any more, just coping with problem after problem. And it all seems too much to be mere coincidence. I wonder whether my stars are badly aligned, or somebody is sticking pins in a wax effigy, or maybe I’m paying off karmic debt. If I had the choice I would go for the latter. It seems the most rational and acceptable.

I'm still coughing and still lack the facility to wash my dishes or myself.