Look into my fridge, no prizes for guessing which shelf is mine…

I didn’t have any money.  But I thought If I bought a loaf of bread I could bring an egg sandwich into work with me.  And a loaf a bread wouldn’t break the bank.

This was Good thinking…

I bolt down to the shop anyway to find it closed.  Blast it! I figure it’ll open in ten minutes (7:00am) so I run back to my flat to make a cuppa cha n do stuff.

So before I go out to the shop again at 7:00am, I decide to use my time wisely & put the egg into a saucepan in preparation for this egg sandwich. 

Being tied for time, I legged it to the shop again.  Twas open, so I go in only to find that they’re out of bread.  Blast it anyway – I grab a pack of pitta bread instead and make my way back to the flat.  When I reach the front door & look for the keys I realise they are not with me.  Now one might argue at this point that it’s not a problem and you’ll be thinking “ah shur, just ring the bell and the flatmates will come down and letchya in” – but those of you who know me & who have been to my flat know only too well that the door bell doesn’t work (even if it did, we wouldn’t answer it).  We don’t answer the phone either.  One time the fire alarm went off downstairs at about 4:00am in the morning and no one bothered to get out of bed to investigate. 

So I thumped on the door anyway, full blasht.  The flatmates were conked out in their beds two floors up…  Zzzzzz

No answer.  Didn’t have my phone on me either to ring Bob London & tell him to let me in.  I was screwed and me last egg was on it’s last legs boiling away in the saucepan inside.  I decided to fill my lungs with air and give a good shout inta the letterbox.  I let out an almerciful yelp that resounded around the neighbourhood.  I was in luck & was let in so I could tend to me darling egg.  The poor unfortunate thing was sitting in steam when I rounded the corner. 

After the egg was tended to, I ransack the place looking for my keys…  no where to be found.  I borrow my flat mates keys and run back to the shop to see if I left them in there.  Low and behold they were on the counter.  Race back to my flat.

At this stage, I was officially running late.  I slit open the pitta bread only to find a mouldy piece of pitta looking out at me. 

Feck! 

Back to the shop again – visit numero four-o in the space of a half an hour – scandalised!  Yer manno must a thought I had the hots for him.  Anyway, I swap pitta’s with him & run back to the flat.  May I just point out that I’m sweating like a paedo in a playground at this point. 

I make my sambo & glance at the clock…

shock horror! Look at the time & I’ve to be at work at 8:00am and it’s a serious cycling distance from where I am standing! 

Grab me helmet & me bike & cycle like Stephen Roche to work only to get there and realise that I forgot my egg sandwich!