"This Would Be Really Funny If It Wasn't Happening To Me," Part I

I’m due to get a train to London on Monday, followed by a plane to Australia on Tuesday, and with the onset of this nation-wide shit-storm it has become a possibility that my trip may be cancelled. Yes, the one that has cost me over a month’s wages (that’s 200 hours of work and 30 hours of driving to and from). The one that I’ve been planning for almost a year. The one that will allow me to be reunited with my best friend whom I rarely go more than a day without and who has been on the other side of the world for three months now. That one. I am not impressed.

Yet, I can’t help but feel it was inevitable. Because it’s me. This isn’t intended to sound like a, “Why me?!” moan, because it’s not, but I’m aware that, whilst most areas of my life are actually pretty good and I’m very fortunate in many ways, the big things in life always cock right up through no fault of my own.

Maybe it’s cosmic balancing for being so lucky in other ways; maybe it’s because I get so worked up and excited about the events that it provokes the Gods to scream, “Oh bloody hell! I can’t take it any more! Abort!!” Maybe it’s karma for my shocking cooking abilities, who knows?! But it happens.

It began, rather feebly, on my 18^th Birthday – the first birthday that really means anything in society and to you – your coming of age, a right of passage. I got a pathetic cold and managed two drinks before I had to call a taxi to take me home. That’s the perfect word for it: Pathetic. But enough to ruin a night I had been looking forward to for 18 years.

Then came my sister’s wedding – a day the whole family had been looking forward to for years and I was chief bridesmaid. The day before the wedding I began getting the flu (easily the illest I have ever been) and spent the night sweating and hallucinating on the study floor. In the morning my family decided I was too ill to go – feck that! I filled myself to the brim with painkillers and managed to make it through the day. Unfortunately, I took so many that I can’t actually remember anything that happened between arriving at the church and leaving the reception.

My 21^st came next – the one and only night I’ve had my drink spiked. I ended up being carried out of the pub (we hadn’t even made it to the club yet!) and my mother was called. I spent the next three days vomiting, thus missing my train back to London and the first three days of my third year at uni. Perfection.

And whilst none of my other trips have been ruined (although I did manage to get sunburnt inside Kenya Airport) I can’t help but feel the Gods have had a conversation along the lines of:

1: “Oh bugger, I’ve got a month’s worth of snow here. What shall I do with it?”

2: “Maybe spread it over a few countries so they can all have a nice white Christm…”

3: “Oh Christ! Mary’s getting all fidgety again! Make it stop!”

1: “Oh for crying out loud, hold on, I’ll just dump it here. On her face.”