Good Friday my ar*e.
After a magnificent weekend seven days ago, the past week has been less than good.
And today, Jamie - who hasn't been great for the past couple of nights in any case - woke up looking and feeling like me (other than his blonde hair. And blue eyes. Plus he's much smaller than me, but you get the picture).
So we're kind of housebound today. Although, when I say "we," I mean "us boys" as Charlotte and Vanessa have gone off for some retail therapy. (If Mrs W uses the joint credit card, I'll kill her).
Today's false start to the Bank Holiday weekend comes off the back of a uniquely irritating experience yesterday which I still can't quite believe.
Succinctly, my front crown came loose again so I phoned up to book an appointment to have it welded back in.
My own dentist was on leave so, when I walked in, I was "greeted" by a rotund, po-faced foreign woman, dressed in purple, wearing blue contact lenses and sporting a harsh, bobbed haircut reminiscent of Johnny Depp in Charlie and The Chocolate Factory.
I explained my situation and said it would be very kind if she could do the necessary.
She had a poke (it was probably a long time since the last one).
"It's not loose," she grunted, Jabba The Hut-style.
"It is, look," I replied, flapping my pretend tooth.
"You'll have to come back and see your own dentist," she hissed.
"After it's come out?!" I said, raising my tone. "But you're sitting there now with a drill and a bag of cement and a poking implement - can't you just sort it out now?"
"No," she replied, facial expression unwilling/unable to change (and not because she'd had a facelift, I assure you).
What followed was a 20 second monologue from me which left her in no doubt whatsoever about how unprofessional, disgraceful and sh*t she actually was - although I didn't say sh*t. Oh, and I told her she should be ashamed of herself. Which she should. Bitch. (I didn't call her that either. Sometimes I really am too nice).
