You know when you book the oven-fixer – the one who never quite fixed the dishwasher, but it’s who the people recommend and if you use anyone else warranty, guarantee blah blah blah – and it’s two weeks before he can get there, and even then they can say nothing more definite than sometime between 8 am and 1 pm and so you arrange your entire day around being there then, and then at 10 am he rings and says I’ve got caught up and you think already and he says can you be there later in the day and you say well, yes…what time and he says it will be after four and you say well, I did have something to do, because you did, on account of making sure you were here all morning, but you know there’s no point complaining, because then it will be another two weeks of not having a decent oven and of therefore making dry muffins and of children rejecting even your cakes, and if you were a decent mother they would never be so ungrateful…

…and you have to remind yourself, there’s worser places to live.

UPDATE: well, bugger me, and who knew…5.30 pm and he still hasn’t rocked up.