Lucky Day

What a Saturday this has been so far. Work was a comparative breeze today, and about an hour before I finished my shift, I got a text to tell me that I'd finished runner-up in a flash fiction competition. Given that I'd never written any flash fiction before entering this contest, I was massively pleased with the outcome, and viewed it as a bit of an affirmation; sometimes you do find yourself wondering whether it's worth putting fingers to keys, and it takes something like this to give you a bit of encouragement, persuade you to keep plugging away.

Of course, whatever utter tosser is in charge of the universe can never let me have a completely good day, so things were bound to go tits-up football-wise. I sat myself down for kick-off with a heavy heart, all ready to watch Sunderland run riot over us. And yet, for eighty minutes, we held our own, and just as it started to look like they might sneak a goal past us, our new signing Peter Odemwingie went and got hold of a perfect pass from James Morrison, keeping his cool to poke it into the back of the net. Three massive points on the board for us, and my magical day continuing against all odds. Still fired up from this important win, I had to go out and get a suitable picture, so I caught this football by the river; like the Albion, it's taken a fair old battering, but there's life in it yet.

However, all of this now leaves me wondering what the last three hours of this Saturday can hold in store. Surely this can't actually be a real, honest-to-God GOOD DAY? I just can't accept that. There's no doubt I'm going to get back from the pub to find some maniac massacring my assembled loved ones while my house burns down. That's the only possible way this day could be balanced out to something approaching normality. But still, never mind. Until that happens, I suppose I'll just have to make the most of this little island of pleasantness.