The Calm Before the Storm

Frustration is the name of the game.
How easy it is for life to hijack a beautifully choreographed and synchronised "to do" list, as I found out this morning.

The first item on the list was a very early arranged meeting with the guru from the O2 shop who would surely be able to fix the problem I'm having with my new phone and e-mails.
Despite having had a text message at 8am reminding me of the 9am appointment, I still had to stand outside the shop for 6 minutes when they failed to turn up on time.

After 40 minutes of fiddling, the guru gave up and announced it must be a failure of the internal software and I would need to return it to whereof it came as it was still under warranty, but the whereof, I knew, was via the internet. So not a good outcome.

Other items on the "to do" list suffered the same sort of result, although the purchase of roll mop herring from M&S was at last a tick in the right box.

My mistake thereafter was to imagine that a bus journey from Princes Street to the Land of Flowers might be fairly quick and direct. Stupid assumption.

Direct yes, but quick is an adjective which can be scored out of vocabulary during August in Edinburgh.
We stopped at lights, we stopped at bus stops, we just stopped. Long caravans of buses inching their way up the Bridges, but more than likely stopped in a muddle of cars, lorries and tourists.
I do wonder if Lothian region prescribe tranquillisers for their bus drivers, because it must be the most stressful occupation.

Once back home, I had to phone the helpline to arrange the return of the phone.
After negotiating all the automated numbers to press, hallelujah, I got a person at the end of the line.
My euphoria was short lived when I realised that I was finding it difficult to understand him.
Do you think that call centres prefer giving jobs to people with foreign accents or speech impediments?

Eventually we got some rapport going and I understand that the internet company will sent me a bag into which I will put my oh so new but badly behaved phone and return it to them.

Now the only thing left to worry me is my complete inability to find the original box.
It's not like me to throw such a thing out, but it seems to be nowhere and the most distressing thing is that I cannot even remember if I threw it out or not.

Senility is beginning to rear its ugly head.

This is the Grassmarket, unusually quiet at 8:45 this morning, and in the sun.
How unusual is that these days?