Must. Keep. Smiling...

Over the past few days I have been a nit-wit, rather clumsy and a beanpole. I will elaborate. It was Friday morning. I was jogging. The sun was shining, the smell of manure from the nearby farm was wafting in the wind, and Ryan Adams (not to be confused with Bryan Adams), was singing in my ears about a Nobody Girl. Nothing could stop me. Nothing apart from a slightly raised paving stone. After my legs failed to keep up with my upper body I hit the floor like a plank of wood. Had I got away with it? No. The children from the nearby school found it hilarious. The whole playground did. I gave them my best smile and cursory wave and tried not to grimace. Needless to say my run ended in a limp to the nearest supermarket to grab some plasters. However, this was only the beginning. While hunting for Sainsbury's own brand, I saw that John Frieda products were on sale. Always one to grab a bargain I thought why not. I was going to go blonde. So back home I went; knees patched up, foam in hair, stopwatch set. 40 minutes later, after the remainder of the dye had disappeared down the plughole and my hair had slightly dried I took a peak. And gulped. My hair was now a healthy shade of orange. Over the weekend I have slowly come to terms with my face continually clashing with my hair. I wish I did not blush so easily. So today, I went back out for another bout of exercise. Unfortunately, someone has not yet grown tired of pulling my stings. I looked up to follow the flight of a butterfly and was pooed on by a duck. Right on my nose. I must have been a very bad person in my previous life.