I’m having one of those weeks where you watch your hard-earned cash slowly but surely, being pissed down the toilet.
My trusty Previa, fondly known as: Aunty Al’s Bus for the past many a year, died in quite a dramatic fashion, on the way to work last week. As I watched the smoke bellowing from the bonnet and I was warning my fellow passenger to evacuate with me for fear that it would explode, I thought to myself two things: the first was, ‘oh shit!’ and the second was: ‘this is going to be expensive’. Any minute now I am going to watch it being hauled onto a tow truck and driven to the scrap yard. I think I will run down the road after it, waving a white flag and scattering petals – we’ve been through a lot together.
Trump being elected as President on Wednesday, has done nothing to make this week any better. At the ladies’ Taekwon-do class that I teach on Wednesday morning, our two American students gave each other a hug. I suspect they were exchanging whispers of what alternative accent they should adopt for the rest of the week. It can’t feel good to be American right now. It feels bad enough being English and wondering: how the…? What the…? Why the…? Who the…?
As I sat in total shock that morning, clutching onto my third mug of tea and listening to his victory speech, I thought to myself that the discomfort his son was obviously feeling, standing next to his Dad in full view of millions, was equal to about one thousandth of how many of the viewers were feeling. Uncomfortable would be a terrible understatement. I looked at his family standing on the stage and all I could see were spray tans, Botox, over-coiffured hair and the air of ‘fake’ hung heavily around them. It’s a reality show that has just got horribly real – with all the narcissism that goes with it. There is a man, I thought to myself, who doesn’t like being told: ‘no’. There is a little boy who is dressed like a man. There is the President of the United States of America and for the second time in a matter of days, I thought: ‘oh shit!’.
Still in shock, daughter 1 caught me off guard last night and I found myself sitting next to her in the car, as she attempted to pull out of our driveway – she’s only had four driving lessons thus far and up until now I have resolutely refused. As we careered around the industrial estate in the pitch dark, I remembered why. ‘Break!’ I screeched at her, as we sped towards a corrugated iron structure at several miles an hour. “Why didn’t you brake sooner?” I asked, once we’d come to a stop, inches from the wall. “Because I had to check my mirror first” she replied, with the voice of someone who is new to something and doggedly follows the rules. ‘Oh shit!’ I thought, not for the first time this week and I have a niggling feeling, as the aroma of cat’s piss is wafting down the stairs, that it won’t be the last.
There goes Aunty Al’s Bus…oh shit!