Late night on Monday I moved in for a cuddle with Mr Weenie to be met with 'Wow, it's like a bowling ball! It's all hard and you're so much heavier.' Bastard.
Tuesday morning I awoke with the horrendous mood carried over from the night before. I set off for work at 7.20am and took the train with Mr Weenie, all lovely. I had forgotten I was meeting Little Roboat that morning and missed out on a natter.
One stop into the District Line journey, Mr Weenie hopped off to go to work. I got back to reading my Metro. I got on that train at 7.45am, I reached Victoria at about 9.05am. I was on it for what seemed like forever. It was hot, it was slow and t was full off commuting nobbers who insisted on stepping on my feet, tutting at each other and spreading their papers out wide to be as annoying as possible.
I finally emerged from Hades into Victoria station. The next train I needed wasn't until 9.25am so I started to stride towards the Boots to pick up bits and bobs. As I reached the door the sirens began. An emergency evacuation of the station later and I was stood outside, in the rain, with 2,000 other commuters. Sirens wailed, fire engines and police arrived and many of us grumbled about the fact it was probably just some carrot batons in a dropped M&S bag or something.
The station finally reopened and I had that sinking feeling. Baby was on bladder and I needed to pee. Needed doesn't even convey the urgency. In desperation I used a loo on one of the stationary and posh looking trains that weren't leaving for a while. I then did a waddly run down to the distant platform where my train was waiting.
At 10.10am I was nearly at work.
I then had an utterly rubbish day at work before trekking the hour and a half home without the capacity to pedal out my rage. This blows.