Blonde's Eye View: Me versus the world

Each time I rang to complain they put me on hold. Celine Dione. I told you it wasn't a good day.

My train was cancelled.

Eventually I crammed onto a four carriage microwave with hundreds of other lemmings. We hurtled at 5mph toward the city.

The Jubilee line wouldn't accept my ticket; the universe was telling me to go home, go back to bed.

Like a fool I didn't listen. Instead I spent 10 minutes flapping my Oyster card over the barrier, trying to attract the Underground guy's attention, but he was too busy chatting to a teenage girl in micro-shorts.

Finally I reached the Wharf. While riding up the escalator my stiletto got caught in the grate.

I broke the tip off wrenching it free. I arrived at my meeting late, hot, flustered and lopsided.

With every step my shoe made a scraping sound, like nails down a blackboard. The meeting didn't go well.

After, I raced home, experiencing a palindromic journey back.

Only this time the Underground guy was talking to a teenage girl in a miniskirt.

By the time I reached my home office I was panicking about being two hours behind schedule and hitting my deadline.

In my haste I knocked my pen pot all over the floor.

A handful of staples fell into my printer. I spent an hour trying to pick them out with tweezers, but it was no use.

Each time I print the machine makes a painful screaming metal sound, screws up the paper and produces perfect printouts of staples. I've killed it. I need a holiday.

I wonder if my boss would allow me compassionate leave for the death of my printer?