No tennis for me! The Australian Open website scared me off with their ticket prices which annoyed me to the point of refusing to watch it on TV. I thought this year I would get to go…however I hadn’t planned on being a casual worker and thus not getting paid for a month courtesy of Christmas Holidays. Goddamnit – if I lived in the US or preferably (for this rant) the UK I could have swanned into every match, drunk like a fish and worn out my neck from swiveling. But no. I notice at What’s New Pussycat there is a bit of Haiku action. Now it is always useful (I have occasionally found) to indulge in a little bit of Venting Via Haiku. Having to fit your bitterness into such a restricted space is always a challenge.
My tennis tickets
Did not materialise
Stamping did not help
This angst is followed by…dress fittings and more Humber pain.
Another fitting (the final one – I think) for gothy bridesmaids dress this afternoon. I will be biking there as my car now seems to dog joint supplement
have a bit of trouble (this is after I spent an airfares worth of money on it last month).
I spoke to Stephen, resident mechanic spunkrat and the siren that calls the many and varied female customers to get their cars fixed at that particular garage.
'What seems to be the problem Steve?'
'Ah, well, we thought that your brakes just might need some adjustment from when we put in all the new parts last month...'
I begin to droop.
'Well, it's one of two things. It's the master cylinder or the booster.'
I cut to the important bit.
'Which one is cheaper?'
'The master cylinder.'
I sigh, envisioning my travel to exotic locations going anti clockwise down the plughole. I will never see it going down clockwise at this rate. Ever. (Though this is apparently a myth.)
'OK, do the master cylinder thing then.'
The only thing I can think of being worse than going to a medieval murder party in 40 degree (that's 104 in Iowa) heat in a car without air conditioning, is having to ride my bike there.