I grump no more...

This evening my train is running over an hour late. My train is near on always delayed. Since early September it has managed to be on time once. Although, I do sometimes get the hour earlier train. Still delayed but then possibly the original train isn't. It matters not, my train is supposed to arrive at one minute past the hour. It never does. It's less reliable than the Tory government. Yes, really.

This evening is the worst yet. With each passing minute it gains two extra minutes in its "expected time of arrival". Most of the time the delay in time washes off my back as easily as my hair conditioner. No use crying over spilled milkshake and all that jazz. But not tonight. Tonight I am grumpy. Tonight life seems unfair. Tonight I want the whole public transport to be burgled. In the middle of the damn night with nothing left to its name but the timetable that it is suppose to be following.

Why am I so cross? Why am I feeling such loathing for an inanimate object when I have no where to be? I do have a mountain of paperwork but still. Did I have a bad day at work? Not at all. It was fabulous. The children adored the Diwali story of Prince Rama, his beautiful wife Sita, the Evil Demon King Ravana and the rather helpful and kind Monkey King Hanuman. We danced and sang to Jai Ho and This Little Light of Mine until we could dance no more. And on top of it all one of the cheekiest and most beautiful children I have ever had the pleasure to teach, one with severe and complex needs sat unaided for a short length of time. The pride that has been bursting through my veins today has been almost overwhelming.

So why the Hitler style hatred? I can think of only two reasons; this week is the anniversary of My Little Dragons death, and I haven't spoken to The Boy properly in just over a week. I can't remember the last time that was so. But now I am angry at myself. Of course I am going be saddened by My Little Dragons anniversary, he was more special to me than almost anyone I have ever met. But if my subconscious is really trying to tell me that I am now sulking at the absences of The Boy, then we need words. Strong, sweary words with bite.

I do not mope. I do not pine. I do not sulk. Never more have I needed to get a grip and be smacked on the bottom with a Woman's Weekly. And thanks to this post, I now have.

However, if you do see a curvy southern brunette walking the streets of Manchester, call out "Not tonight, Josephine" and should she turn and smile knowingly then I give you all full permission to slap me and ban me from Nutella for the whole evening.

Unless you are my twitter crush...
...But you'll know what to do.