Murphy is the patron saint of all things

Yesterday was one of those days when the only antidote was to either drink heavily, or go home early and pull the covers over my head. Fortunately in the interests of liver health I chose the latter option.

Nothing has really worked for me since Saturday night. Let me preface this with the fact that I am a drama queen, and I know that. When I drop something on the floor, I blame it on the Parkinson's disease (that I don't have), rather than the simple clumsiness (that I do have).

But my tendency to overreact does not explain the string of balls-ups that peppered my weekend and oozed into yesterday. I'd hesistate to call it a "comedy of errors", but that would imply that some of it was funny. And it was not.

I've decided to get a new passport so I went on Saturday to have my pictures taken at K-Mart, where I learned that the obliging 15 year old behind the counter would take and re-take digital pictures until I was 100% happy with the result. But every single picture he took made me look like I'd been arrested at 3am for a range of unsavoury offences. They were positively horrible. So then I did the typical female "thing" (I'm so ugly, my hair is beyond help bla bla) and felt generally awful for a few hours. But I flipped out and then recovered sufficiently to realise that if I took some time doing my hair, slapped some mascara on, maybe I could have them done again. So I trotted off yesterday to the Polaroid place and had more taken. Hair was better, mascara was on, earrings were fab, but I still looked awful.

The poor girl at the photography place tried to tell me that "no one looks nice in passport pics because you can't smile" but I look positively ropable. And the only thing that calms me down is that the picture looks like I've been on a plane for 24 hours - so at least when the immigration people check my passport at the various airports, at least I'll look like my picture!