Puddle

Just before I left the house, Mr Pandammonium reminded me about Henry’s tyre. I looked at it: flat again.

I took him to the tyre man, who took the tyre off and found a massive tack stuck in it. That’d do it.

He blew the tyre up good and firm so I could go to Ely and back, put it back on and ordered a replacement.

I didn’t get very far when I discovered a mini geyser erupting from a manhole cover. I pulled over thinking I should report it. Let’s just gloss over that process by saying the website is not mobile friendly, and it seemed it had already been reported. What a waste of time.

I did my business in Ely (cucumbers are once again available), which involved finally going to Screwfix for the replacement bolt, and drive home.

I spent some quality time with Mr Perkins, which involved him being curled up on my knee on the sofa while I struggled to find a comfortable place to put my other laptop.

Then it was back to Fight Klub for some punching action. ‘Jab, cross, jab. Jab, cross, jab.’

Back at home, we watched the Masterchef actual final (I do wish they’d sort the names of the rounds out). We called the winner.