There ain't no such thing as a free Catch-22

You know those days where you just need the universe to cooperate for once, you need to come home and find that something unexpectedly wonderful has happened, and it never actually has?

Well, yeah. One of those.

Meantime, in the real world, I wanted to transfer some money out of a credit card and into an overdraft. This ... shouldn't be difficult. Except that it is. For me, right now, it's difficult two different ways. It cannot apparently be done online, for reasons that escape me; it could be done at the counter of the bank in question, only it cannot, because when I dusted off the card I found that it was out of date and its replacement has escaped me, one way or another. Either it never arrived, or it came and I did something stupid with it. (Any bets that I received it and signed it and then just destroyed the new one rather than the old one? ... No, I thought not.)

Anyway. No card, no counter transaction. And the third part of my two-part problem? In a week's time I'll be in mid-Atlantic. Or preferably above it, but you take the point. Not here, to flourish card at recalcitrant bank.

So it's a race, whether the new replacement card gets here in time. If not... Well. Some more intricate money-juggling will ensue, I guess. But fuck, I'm frustrated. All I want to do is move this money from here to there, within the same organisation. I have online access to both accounts, on the same screen, for cryin' out loud. I ought to be able to drag-and-drop. And I can't. Snarl.

Third time pays for all

And this is the third time today that I have done this: come into the Lit & Phil from outside, come downstairs, shed my jacket, opened up the Laptop of Heavenly Perfection and made the poor thing work.

First time was my regular morning visitation, no surprise. Only I had to leave early, to wrassle with the bank; I hadn't even made a thousand words, and I need two thousand a day, every day this week. At least.

So I went home and invented lunch (sossidge and camembert toasted sammiches: one was not enough, I had to go back for another, and I recommend them to your attention), only then I came back into town rather than settling into work at home. Back here, and wrangled another couple of pages; then went up to the other end of town where I was engaged to meet Mark and help him play the dutiful uncle. [Helen has a niece studying Fine Art at Northumbria, and tonight was the opening of the second-year show. Niece's parents were due to come up from Selby, only her dad had a towelling-his-feet accident and put his back out (stop giggling at the back! Dean is one of the fittest men I know, and it is totally Not Funny) (well, all right, just a little, maybe) and her mum can't drive and Helen is at work so it fell to Mark to represent the family. Mark and me.]

So we did that [and oh glory, it is thirty years since I hung out with art students, and they haven't changed, except that I don't believe we were ever that young], and then Mark went off to his Spanish class, and I? I have come back here. I have an hour before they close the library and I have to go to the pub. I can write two more pages in an hour, indeed I can. I need only stop footling about on the internets, and get down to it.

*footles*