Well, I thought I was going diving tomorrow. But it turns out my arranged lift's vehicular conveyance has suffered an acute attack of broken. As has my uncle's, to whom I would usually turn to plead when a situation like this might arise. My parental unit is out of the country until Monday, the trains and buses - such as they are on a Sunday - don't run within five miles of my destination, and if I started jogging at six am tomorrow morning, I might get there by midday, but I would surely be in no fit shape to strap on a wetsuit, BCD and tanks to descent 10 metres below sea-level.
If I want to get there, I'll have to drive myself, or get a taxi. There remains the small problem that I cannot afford both a taxi and equipment rental, and although there is a (functional, I hope) vehicle in the drive, I'm not insured to drive it.
So you will understand if I say again, loudly, Pissing ratfucker buggering bastard shit! scream in frustration, and burst into tears of rage. Since I've been looking forward to this dive for the last two and a half months.
Alas and alack, my luck seems to be on the sour side this week. *sigh* Fortuna imperatrix mundi. I wonder what I've done to piss her off?
No matter. No complaining. Things can still get worse.
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