Diary of a Grumpy Old Git by Tim Collins Page A

bronchitis
ward. The window rattled in its frame whenever there was a slight breeze, and managed to keep me awake in the short gap between when the couple in the room above stopped shagging and when the kids
in the room next door started shouting.

     
    There was a sign above the towels asking me to reuse them to avoid the unnecessary use of detergents. Judging by the brown stains on the back of them, the necessary use of detergents has also
been avoided. How utterly committed to saving the planet this establishment must be. I can’t say I noticed their solar panels or recycling bins, though. It’s funny how they’re
most committed to the environmental initiatives that save them effort.
    Breakfast was included in the price, but not in my definition of ‘edible’. To make things worse, it was presented as if it were normal food. The instant coffee was served in a small
metal pot, the cheap own-brand cereal was stored in a plastic tube with a ‘Kellogg’s Corn Flakes’ logo stuck on, and some thin, tasteless red liquid had been syphoned into a
tomato sauce bottle.
    The pitch seemed to go pretty well, though. I know Jen’s relentless positivity can be annoying, but it was very handy in the meeting. She did a terrific job of coming across like she was
actually excited by their range of forklifts. Maybe she actually was excited by them. Maybe she’s excited by everything all the time. I have no idea.
    We sat together on the train home, and once again I didn’t need to add anything to the conversation to keep it going. She asked me what I thought about new government plans for a
high-speed rail link and then argued alternatively for and against them all the way home. It sounds crazy, and it was. But I found it strangely comforting. In fact, her chattering lulled me off to
sleep after about twenty minutes. She might have stopped talking at that point, but I seriously doubt it.

S ATURDAY 23 RD M ARCH
    On my way down to the shops this morning I pressed the button on the pedestrian crossing and the ‘WAIT’ sign lit up. While I was standing there, an old lady came
along and pressed the button again. I couldn’t believe it. It was like she had so little faith in my ability to press a button she felt she had to do it again to make sure. I tried to explain
this to her and she said I was being rude.
    I pointed out that she was clearly the rude one. If you see someone waiting at the lights, the very least you can do is credit them with the intelligence to press a button correctly.
Unfortunately, it took me so long to explain this to her that we both missed the lights, and the button needed to be pressed again. I offered to let her do it this time, but she refused in case I
shouted again. Which proved she hadn’t been listening to a word I’d been saying.
    As I approached my house I noticed that a woman had very thoughtfully stopped right outside to let her pit bull terrier shit in my driveway. I glared at her, but she just smiled and said it was
a nice day. There was no attempt to apologize or scoop up the faeces. Both lady and dog just stood there grinning at me.

     
    I was about to tell her that I made no distinction whatsoever between someone who lets their pet defecate on my driveway and someone who hitches up their skirt, drags their knickers down to
their knees and curls one out herself. Unfortunately, I didn’t get the chance because the horrible dog jumped up at me.
    I flinched back.
    ‘Don’t worry,’ said the woman. ‘It just means he likes you.’
    So shitting on someone’s driveway and trying to bite them is a way of showing approval now, is it? My grasp of etiquette is clearly out of date.

S UNDAY 24 TH M ARCH
    I bought a Sunday paper from the supermarket while I was out this morning, and when the woman behind the counter asked if I wanted a bag, I declined. I know how angry they get
about plastic bags and I couldn’t face buying another bag for life, so I decided to tuck my paper under