Friday, 4 March 2011

Addled with fail? Probably.

I am partial to few good adjectival phrases like, ‘riddled with gin’. Today’s adjectival phrase of choice is, ‘addled with fail’.
I suppose you could argue that this superlative usage could not be applied to the proceedings of my day. Perhaps I should refer to it as Largely Bi-Polar. 
And so, dear, darling reader, I shall leave the outcome of my day to your good judgement. 
This morning, I woke up - without my alarm set - on time. This is good. 
Ambling downstairs, I find my father making tea. Upon the arrival of The Mothership, I propose breakfast, and there’s much  banter as I prepare and burn an omlette. This is good. 
I get ready for my interview in London, and am ready in good time. Dad offers his taxi services but he takes half an hour to be ready and out the door. It is now 10.55, my interview begins at 12. It takes me 55 minutes door-to-door. This is bad. 
Arriving in Oxford Circus at 11.50, I meet Lovely Eliza from boticca, who gives me my beautiful Little Glass Clementine necklace - a delivery that has been delayed by an un-named weekly glossy (don't ask). This is good (the delivery, not the delay).

Little Glass Clementine

From Oxford Circus, my new, 5 day old, case-less, iPhone 4 provides me with directions to my interview location. This is good. 
I arrive on time, just, but still with my jeans on and my flat boots. My beautiful silk embroidered skirt from Coast (painstakingly preserved for the journey in bags and tissue), and Old Favourites stilettos will have to remain in my bag. This is bad.
The interview (sought-after industry specific business mentoring programme - not a job) goes well. An hour of questioning and some fairly well-constructed but leading answers on my part, they tell me yes, I have a place. This is good. 
They ask me for my trading address. My trading address is in Bristol. They tell me no, I don’t have a place. My trading address is not in London. This is bad.

I receive a message from a friend nearby, and we meet for a London Power Catch Up. He buys me a coffee, which I suspect is particularly because I look rough as arseholes. This is good (the catch up, not my aesthetic). 

I get a text from The Mothership, informing me I’ve left my Bristol keys at Taskis Towers (Chez Taskis and Casa Taskis have fallen from popular usage - where ‘popular’ means me). This is bad.

Getting on my coach, I take a brief, but wholly satisfying call from my best friend. She informs me she is baking a cake. This is good.

Splendid Cake

My coach pulls into Bristol and I head straight a local, friendly curry house. I am handed a beautifully brewed spiced chai masala tea, with a healthy dollop of Golden Syrup. This is good. 
Since my boyfriend is shortly due to arrive for dinner, I decide to change out of my jeans and into my skirt and stilettos in the spirit of ‘making an effort, because I fancy you’. This is good.
Changing, I hear a *clunk, crack*. My iPhone, 5 days old, has vacated my pocket and fallen to the tiled floor of the bathroom. The glass screen is shattered. This is bad. 
Sad iPhone

Despite the dismay and disappointment from the day (and my new found rhyming skillz), I begin to discuss some Fantaskis-grown plans for the future of ethical fashion in Bristol over dinner (delicious lentil dahl & chicken tikka masala). This is good. 

So, what do you think, reader? Addled with fail? Distinctly bi-polar? Gaining less than I have lost? In need of a dose of MTFU?
I am going to sleep as soon as possible to avoid anymore catastrophes. Tomorrow I will visit the Apple Store in search for a resolution. My pride, I think, will take longer to repair. And a relocation to London, perhaps longest of all.


  1. Oh.

    Oh dear.

    If it helps, there are some companies which offer flat rate iPhone screen repair for approx £50...?

  2. cake > iphones every day of the week