My mood has been as black as it comes today with wave after wave of bad news grinding me down. One of my grievances is a battered pound coin has ironically managed to cause £135 worth of damage. My house manager, a gruesome Italian man who looks slightly like The Penguin, has been waddling in and out of my flat for days trying to establish why the washing machine is Kaput! Finally an engineer was called who discovered the errant coinage and issued a bill of biblical proportions for his heroic work. In addition to this excessive billing he scrawled some advice on the invoice suggesting we don’t overload the socket in the washer room… Oh thanks – is that how the pound coin got stuck? We overloaded the socket! Thanks, Einstein! Practically, invaluable advice aside I’m still utterly hung up on the fact that as soon as I have the vague sniff of some extra money in one nostril I have an epic cash nosebleed out the other. Maybe I’m over reacting and maybe I should just junk up on some levellers and write a cheque but I am aggrieved. So aggrieved I’m resorting to ludicrous words like ‘aggrieved’ to describe my levels of annoyance. That’s worse than describing ‘rain’ as ‘inclement weather’. What has become of me? Ok… Deep breaths! It isn’t the end of the world. I’ll simply cough up the cash and move on with my life. Maybe use the gnarled up pound coin to buy a winning scratch card.