The chickens that surround my shed have been fortunate not to have heard much swearing recently, as I get stuck into the punt project which, to date, has been going ominously smoothly. That's a dangerous thing to have said as I will arrive there tomorrow to find the epoxy has not kicked...
Found mouse poo in my coffee cup this morning, and even that didn't make me swear. Just boiled the kettle and turned it into Nescapoo. You think I drank it, yes?
So what did I last swear at? Last week it was the vacuum cleaner. Yesterday it might well have been a flimsy hand pump made by one Fladen. One pull on the plunger and it fell apart. Simply held together with glue, so it transpired after I managed to prise it apart.
There was a silver lining to the cloud, in that the nice man who sold it to me on eBay was more than happy to exchange it. "Never had anyone send one back," he said.
"I'm going to have a go at fixing it," I said.
"Good for you," he said.
"But if I can't fix it, it might have to go back, and will probably be in a distressed state by then."
(I would have lost my temper, in other words...)
"No bother, most people just ring up and moan. Good luck."
So I fixed it, and it's better than new. But why oh why didn't they make it properly in the first place?