Ken What I Mean?

What a bloody day. I cycled off to the boat to measure up for new washboards and I got a goddam puncture. So it was into a nearby park where I turned the bike over - wheel off, found the shard of glass, applied a patch, and got home just in time to see maw who'd fallen and scuffed her poor old head.
Rush! Down to the Hearts cup game against Smelltick, and wir captain is sent off after 8 minutes. Sorreee! Was it not going to be difficult enough anyway?? We held it at 0-1 until the second half (hope always springs) and they got a penalty when one of their guys dived/fell over?? Check the bloody replays. The bloody limit. So up to the Diggery Dogs, where I found I'd lost my Tom Ford glasses! Fukksakes! Padded back to the ground .. No sign of em.
Home to see the kids, and then to the washing up. Plunged my hands in the sink and sliced my bloody finger on a knife. I thought these things were supposed to come in threes?
If I write this up as a little stage play, I could imagine Ken Stott as the hapless pensioner. Take one!