Beware the almighty temper!    

I have been out of sorts all week. Yesterday I couldn’t even think about anything without some vile temperamental feeling overshadowing my thoughts. I’m unfocused and forgetful: umbrellas in fridge, teabags in washing machine, putting things away and then forgetting where, keys lost and found, that kind of amnesia. The brain holes act like a sieve, with all matter sprinkling through leaving me blank. And then I get cheesed off, frantically trying to fit all the pieces together with the clock mocking me. A bad mood subsequently ensues.

No guys it’s not hormonal! Or at least it doesn’t fit into any kind of timetable. What the hell do I know about the mysteries of chemistry?

Women are often accused of imbalance (even though there are times when it’s true). I’m guessing it’s those mafioso clouds giving us the crap weather that are partially to blame. They’ve monopolised the sky and I can’t even blame Rupert Murdoch for this one. Good old British weather, always guaranteed to fart in your face. Last week we had glorious spring weather, this week it’s been all wintry again. I’m still wearing gloves! I’ve just about had it with this six month winter. Prolonged bad weather leaves me chomping at the bit. My teeth are going to keep my dentist busy. The last one I had (years ago) bought a Ferrari and retired to Marbella. I had better keep the chomping to a minimum, though I’m pretty sure it wasn’t just billing me that allowed for such a lavish retirement. The fact is - I need that yellow star like I need air to breathe. We all do! Other than that a lot of negative things have occurred: everything from natural disasters and wars to colleagues being made redundant and retiring due to the cuts. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, the media vultures are always guaranteed to keep us sensationalised, and political muppets love to keep us in check. It’s a gradual accumulation of sub-conscious negativity that eventually seeps out into the open when least expected. I’m such a sensitive soul *snort*.

If I’ve discovered anything about myself it’s my lack of tolerance where foolishness and injustice are concerned. Present me with stupidity and I’m likely to twitch uncomfortably in response. My hackles are worse than a porcupine’s erectile spines. For example, a newspaper that makes Kate Moss’ return to the catwalk front page news is not worth reading in my opinion. Who freaking cares! I also hate feeling helpless and at the mercy of what’s out there. The Japan tsunami (as with all disasters) was a low point. Then again, in a week’s time the media flies will have flown onto the next juicy cowpat of disaster. They will milk the story dry and leave an invisible residue when all is done and dusted. The media - ghouls of negative press - will be racing off looking for other stories to fill News 24. They’ll be hoping for a scoop somewhere. They’ll be praying something will happen so that they can delight in vomiting all the gory details at us.

And so a dragon is born, or, according to my other half, a Klingon (a warrior race of beings in the Star Trek universe with VERY bad tempers). I’ve just about lost all sensibility and patience.

First act of the day, after the school run, was to go and burn off some calories and any detritus floating around my mind. I had to go visit my deceased spectators and run the equivalent of something like 1200 metres round the cemetery. Those of you who have read previous blogs will be familiar with my running space up by the cemetery. It’s a calming activity and usually works off any stress or anger I may be feeling. So far so good and yet as I run my way up the hill to get there I find myself avoiding the mounds of dog dirt that inconsiderate dog owners choose to leave for the rest of us to contend with. It’s enough to make a horse jealous. What the hell do people feed these animals?  How many cans of Pedigree Chum does it take to produce this amount of poop? I start to feel my mood blacken. The vile thoughts are back. I imagine corks being shoved up certain canine orifices and the brainless human owner being slapped round the head with my ‘happy hand’ to try and instil some sense and respect into their thick skulls. Clean up after your dog, you disgusting cretins! There are bins provided. I don’t want my child running into dog sh*t, anytime we leave the house to go anywhere. Is this too much to ask? Understandably an animal will do its business where it will but we’re supposed to be civilised and thinking beings. Have a little consideration. It’s not really the animals I’m blaming but the bipeds. Alas, I live amongst neanderthals and idiots, what could possibly be expected?  Just wait for the rest...you may need a fall-out shelter.

So I’m set up for the day. This grumpy woman has just about had it. End of the week and I’m in no mood for funny business. I come back from my run and encounter a man with his two dogs. One animal has just cocked its leg and is peeing with gusto up against somebody’s doorstep. WHAT AM I SEEING? I’m indignant! Probably even releasing the proverbial fire and brimstone through my nostrils, but friends... it’s been a funny old week, this ends now:

“Excuse me, is that your house?” I ask.

The man looks at me, all puffed out and beetroot red from my running exertions.

“No.”

“Really, I thought it might be seeing as you’re quite happy to allow your dog to empty his bladder contents all over the doorstep. Do you allow your pets to excrete all over your house?”

He looks at me blankly and wonders who the hell I am. Perhaps trying to make sense of what I’m asking. I can almost picture him scratching his head trying to figure out what ‘excrete’ means. The blank face pretty much reveals a lack of connection between my words and their meaning. I just glare at him waiting for an answer.

“Erm... no... They’re dogs!”

 “Yes, well they certainly don’t look like cats. Do they p*ss and poop in and around your house?” I’m hoping the vernacular will trigger his comprehension.

“No”

So he’s monosyllabic. Perhaps a lecture wouldn’t be wise as I’m sure it wouldn’t register with this individual. I simply look at him and say:

“Next time I suggest you think first before allowing your dogs to do what that one’s just done. Alternatively, let it p*ss all over your doorstep instead, or better still all over you.”

It’s out of my mouth before I realise. I’m shocked at my insanity. Did I just say that? That was wrong on so many levels. I stand my ground even though my knees are about to buckle under the weight of my reckless words. Oh crap, I’m doggy fodder! My insolence is going to turn me into Pedigree Chum. I don’t feel quite so brave now but I try to quickly blab my way out of that last sentence with bravado.

“Please don’t allow that in future. Other people live here and it’s unpleasant. Do you understand? There are laws against this kind of thing, OK?”

What’s my name: Police Constable lunatic? I’m digging myself a bottomless pit. I back off and make to leave. I run in fact. A sure way to get yourself into serious doo-doo is to do what I had just done. I’m not sure what the guy shouted at me as I ran off; perhaps some suitable expletive telling me where to go. Who knows? All I know is that I was out of control and yet, was it not my right to comment on something I felt was wrong? Why do we allow these things to go on in our society and turn a blind eye: the lack of manners, respect and community, it’s quite literally non-existent. If you stand by your moral code you’re likely to get hurt, which is why this incident could have turned into a nasty encounter. Luckily for me, I ran before my legs were turned into doggy munching toys. I couldn’t take one more intolerable act. I am saturated with negatives.  Canine bowel/bladder waste just about edged me over the cliff.

I am inclined to put a sign up on my door:

Here be dragons. Beware!

I think I have reached the age of intolerance. Doesn’t every generation have gripes about the next? What did our elders think of our times (in my case the 70’s and 80’s)? I bet the Sex Pistols were like Beelzebub’s servants to a few. Still, here we are and my mood has lifted. The power of blogging eh?