My moment of feeling sorry for myself, I mean. I was having one of those 'Can't Do This On My Own Anymore' days, but it seems to have passed. It's not such a bad life. There are far worse things than being skint, with no-one to talk to and being the only sane person in a house full of deranged human dustbins, I'm sure. And anyway, when you weigh up the options, most of which include living with the Father of This Lot again, it seems positively idyllic.
So, onward and upward. The sun is shining, there's a chicken roasting in the oven, and I think I feel a hot flush of motivation for attacking The Singer's bedroom coming on. All's well with the world.
And to the Father of This Lot, if you're reading (which I know you're not, because I'm still alive!), maybe I'm being a little unfair, but you know how I love a witty graphic. And, honestly, did you think I'd be able to resist this one?
Oh come on. We both know that if I showed you this you'd laugh.