After the show I walked along the seafront. FAST. Sun shining. Lots of dogs. A smily kind of day.
We had talked about smoking, bullying, Butlins in Bognor Regis, the price of England's football shirt - £90 - and we played lots of lovely music. David, the engineer, new to me, knew all the words of all the songs, all the singers who sung them, all the producers who produced them and what year they were released.
I could not compete, although my dancing in the chair was better than his even with his air guitar.
I drove home with the top down on Nellie. Feeling good with the world.
Then the gloom. My lovely cleaner could not find the spare key which wasnt where it should have been.
The cottage looks like Beirut and the cats looked miserable. They had been alone since 6.30.
I was also waiting for a delivery of the new vacuum cleaner.
Called Jim and shouted.
'What are you shouting for?' he shouted back. I could tell he was pleased to be 200 miles away.
I launched into a tirade about the cleaner, the key, being tired, being on my own, wanting the vacuum cleaner.....
Then I had a brain wave. I got Jim to text me the delivery company's number. It didn't work. So I googled the company and found a tracking number.
'What was the telephone number you used to order the vacuum cleaner? I punched in the number and stabbed the hash tag.
'Is this the right post code?' said the automated voice. I pressed 1 for yes.
'Your parcel was delivered at 2.10 and signed for my 'krgh om [ptvj'
I hung up, baffled. Who the flaming hell was krgh om [ptvj?
I tried the number again and went through the whole procedure.
This time the automated voice was female. No loss of temper but the signature still didn't make sense.
I ran round the dirty house, ( remember no cleaner ) knocked next door, where the 12 year old was home alone and too nervous to open the door to anybody.
So I tried the parcel firm again. This time I was ready with a pencil. I wrote down each letter as she robotised it.
'The parcel was signed for by Lestin Porch.'
There is nobody of that description living anywhere near us with a name like Lestin. I thought it might be our South African neighbours, Lestin sounded like a convincing South African name.
Looking at the letters, I deciphered the code and realised I had mistaken the 'F' for an 'S' and what she actually said was 'LEFT IN PORCH.'
The automated voice had said the signee was called left in porch, when in fact the parcel had been left in the porch.
The trouble with all this is that we don't have a porch
We don't have a piggin porch and yet I went looking for one!
I went next door again and the kid said no porch delivery here sorry.
Ran round outside, no porch anywhere. And then I realised that the porch was in the front of our buildings.
So I ran round to the front and there, as large as life was a huge cardboard box, balanced precariously on my next door neighbours step.
I tried to lift it but it was too heavy for me, I hammered the cardbox in frustration and wept.
My mind was getting clearer I would empty the vacuum cleaner out of the box onto our step. And that is what I did. I dumped the cardboard box, opened my front door and after much heavy breathing retrieved the new device.
My cleaner, if she ever turns up again, will be really pleased. She can hoover upright now and actually pick up the dirt, of which there is much since she missed a week.
I had no idea I was in such a bad mood. It's because I'M HUNGRY AND I CANT EAT AS I'M GONG TO YOGA. Sorry I'm shouting again.
I phoned jim back to apologise, but that slipped my mind as he launched into a story about Facebook and cats.
I may just have a nip round now with the new machine, tidy home tidy mind.....On second thoughts I'm calling my cleaner again.....
Jeni Barnett tells of her scrumptious time at Good Food Live in her first audiobook! Download NOW from iTunes
Oh Jeni ... now that blog really made me laugh! Laughter ... so good for the soul. Thank you x