So today was the most depressing day of the year. It’s an official, real thing apparently. There’s even a flimsy formula type deal to demonstrate how depressing the third Monday in January is. Something to do with the joy of Christmas wearing off, the awareness of debts related to Christmas mounting, and the bleakness of the season in general. It all adds up to make this “blue Monday”. Well, to that equation I would like to add a broken into car with two smashed front windows.
I was woken up at seven this morning by a neighbour banging on my back door. She was keen to get me downstairs to see the damage that had been done to my beloved little Clio, it was almost as if she wanted praise for being the first person to bear the bad news. I wandered down to the car, disheveled with a very bad case of bed head. The glass was everywhere, and so were my CDs. They had tossed Morrisey’s Greatest Hits on the road as if it were not a masterpiece. But Morrisey was not the only casualty… Neil Young’s After The Gold Rush; Radiohead’s In Rainbows, and Arcade Fire’s Neon Bible were strewn, forlornly on the wet pavement. OK, the best of Motown was there too… I’m not an out and out indie kid. I didn’t know what to be more offended at. The act of mindless vandalism, or the assault on my taste in music.
It’s not the bad thing happening that bothers me. It’s dealing with the aftermath of the bad thing that does my head in. After the police had been to inspect the scene, and I was told it was now OK to tidy the mess, I just looked at the officer expecting him to produce some sort of number for me to call, a sort of, “Here’s the number for our after break-in clean up team son” type affair. But no such card appeared. Instead I was left staring at the glass… what the hell do i do now? The robbing bastards had not only offended my musical taste but they had left me with something to clean up too, the inconsiderate shits!
Needless to say, Blue Monday was more Ball Ache Monday for me… I have been informed that they have a possible suspect in custody by my helpful PCSO. Bring back hanging I say… bit harsh?
Mate, sounds like a royal shitter. I haven’t experienced it myself however I can imagine the gutted feeling would be similar to the feeling that the turtle head you’d encouraged to linger had indeed begun to touch cloth. Bad times all round.