Shattered

Tuesday 13th November

Isn’t it strange that some days you feel fine, and others you feel shattered.   I had quite a relaxed weekend, and yet even then I was tired all the time.  I got to bed at a reasonable time on Sunday night, and yet all day Monday I felt shattered.  It all just felt too much.  And every little thing seemed a struggle.  I was transferring some money to France to pay the plumber who is putting in the facilities in the guest wing (a brick built room in the garden – but don’t tell anyone).  RBS were quite useless, I went in to transfer £3000 to Smart Currency FX, from whom I had bought my euro’s (not as good a rate as when I bought the house, but certainly better than the banks are offering – and no commission or onward transfer fees) and they started asking questions “What did I need the euro’s for?  What use was I putting the money to?”  “None if your business actually.”   “But we need to know.”  “No you don’t, or do you actually want me to close my account and transfer all my money out today (says he, as if he is Phillip Green himself).  “No, no, we simply like to make sure our customers are acting wisely.”  “FFS – if I want to put it on the 4.45 at Chepstow, that is my choice, leave me alone.”  Of course I omitted the last comment.  Anyway, they of course reluctantly agreed to do the transfer, but why the hassle.  Then they started to try and sell me an ISA.. F… off Mr. Hester, I already own 82% of your crumby bank.

Anyway, I must admit I did feel a tad better after that spat.  But the day wore on.  And on.  And the longer it continued the more shattered I felt.  I felt as if I could barely make it home on the tube.  And now at 9.15 p.m. I feel – you guessed it – shattered.