Mystery Guest - Revealed

Hell Day - Guest Blogger #1 - Mo Stoneskin

Down in front, we have a guest today. I'll want best behavior from all of you. Give Mo (Mad Dog) Stoneskin the respect he deserves while he tells you a little story about his worst day from hell. Ahem... Mr. Stoneskin, you're on....

I'm woken at 5 in the morning by the cacophonous squawking of a thousand seagulls sitting on our roof. Why these vermin-of-the-air have chosen our roof is a mystery. Like council tax, it is probably some sort of random post(zip) code lottery. I'd rather have a gerbil scrape his little claws across my eardrum than listen to such a din.

Unable to sleep I head to the kitchen to grab a coffee, stepping in a pool of water on the kitchen floor. The dishwasher demon has been at it again. Not only has the dishwasher leaked but it has failed to clean anything. Few things rile me more. It has one job to do - clean the dishes - and it has failed in spectacular fashion. Unbelievably I'm out of coffee, even though I swear there was plenty left the day before. I expect that having completed her dirty work, the dishwasher demon relaxed with a double espresso.

In a killer sequence of death my right foot fraternises with an upturned plug and my left is stubbed against a table leg. "What the hell are you doing?" yells the missus as a I clatter about the living room, whining pitifully. Having made myself some fine, hunky, rough-cut farmhouse sandwiches packed with roast beef and horseradish I succeed in leaving them at home.

You know when you stumble on a slightly raised edge of a paving slab? On the walk to the station I manage to stumble on every single paving slab in a sinister walk of death. It is about as much fun as having your head shaved by a monkey using nothing but an electric toothbrush. A seagull craps on my head. I hear the dishwasher demon cackling in the distance.

The train of course breaks down, but on that one spot of the line where there is absolutely no mobile phone reception. This happened to me once and the train turned into a rampant circus, with furious London commuters scurrying about waving their phones in the air and offering ridiculous wads of cash to anyone who had reception and would let them borrow their phone.

On the way to work I treat myself to a Cadbury's Creme Egg, my comfort food of choice, and something I feel I well and truly deserve. Although it appears to be the finest specimen of confectionery imaginable, the fondant has leaked, meaning it takes me ten minutes to painstakingly peel off the wrapper.

When I get to work I'm met by a new HR policy of disallowing any consumption of coffee during working hours. I'm wearing summer (tan) trousers and splash back from a urinal does irreparable damage to my dignity, and of course I get stuck in a crowded broken-down lift, the nightmare situation that I have referred to in the past.

The lift is packed, the air-con is not working and I am sweating like a badger. To make things worse I am hit by a chronic bout of diarrhoea, probably caused by a tiny bit of Creme Egg wrapper wreaking havoc with my digestive organs. The bedlam is made worse by a pack of small yappy dogs and a toddler blowing a tin whistle.

Later in the day I stop at an ATM on my way to the post office. There is, of course, an ATM Protocol Violator in front of me, faffing, fumbling and farting. ATM protocol is simple. You insert your card, enter your pin, do a quick balance check if required, then select the appropriate cash amount. Then you're done, simple as that. It is unacceptable to take longer than 45 seconds.

This Protocol Violator appears to have their finances in such a state that they are checking the balance of every one of the trillion cards in their wallet. They clearly do not have any idea how much cash they want to withdraw and their ineptitude is compounded by entering the wrong pin numbers multiple times.

Eventually I get to the post office. I have always believed there is a conspiracy against me. If I so much as think about going to the post office the Thought Police step in and dispatch exactly 7 billion elderly folk to the post office. I know there is a conspiracy because there are not even 7 billion people in the world. I know there are exactly 7 billion in the post office because I have time to count them.

On the way home I spot a granny in a souped-up electric buggy hurtling towards me. I think I recognise her from the post office. The buggy is equipped with a ginormous spoiler and is blasting out Eminem obscenely loud. I dive out the way, escaping death by the skin of my teeth, and land in some dog muck. The sinister laugh of the dishwasher demon crackles over the airwaves.

****** (the end) ******

Now then, you're undoubtedly wondering where Blognut is posting today. I don't blame you. That Blognut gets around, doesn't she? Yeah, not really. No one ever let her come visiting before, but you'll find her over here at Cate's blog cluttering up the place. You'll note that Cate keeps a very clean house, so this visit will be very traumatic for her, no doubt. Go on... go see....

By the way, speaking of traumatic, how traumatic would it be for Blognut if she gets no comment love on her very first playdate? Yeah guys, let's don't let that happen.