And just when I thought it couldn't possibly get any worse...

2.5 kg of chicken breast has spoiled in my crappy, rubbish, good for nothing fridge.  I have had to scrape (and I MEAN scrape!  Bottom of the freezer 'barrel') tea together for five of us six, yes that's ME not eating, just in case you needed to ask.  I didn't fancy a bag of microwave steam veg.  Mr G like a zombie on the sofa because he's taken tablets that have rendered him practically useless, and unable to drive.  If he perks up at 8pm when the rugby comes on, I'm cancelling Sky Sports.  Oh and the minute the microwave pinged, it packed up completely.  Deadsville.  So even if I had fancied the steam veg, I was knackered.  It's about 4 months old.  Receipt?  Box?  Don't be silly.  This is me we're talking about here!

And the pièce de bloody résistance...

Adam:  (Runs in from school)  Mum!  Mum!  Great news!  I'm going to be learning how to play the trumpet!

Me:  *Gritted teeth and fake smile*  That's WONDERFUL Adam!  Now, has Mummy got any wine.  It's 5 o'clock somewhere...

But I have no wine.   Or milk.  But the wine part is killing me.  The milk part will kill me in the morning.  

That is all.  As you were.  This too shall pass...