Day 3: I've Got A Parking Permit And A New Phone

At work, I had a complicated phone that I didn't understand and a Blackberry that was never charged. Both of these devices made me feel important. They were in fact life-destroying tools of Guilt. I didn't have much else to do today so I've had it upgraded, my own mobile, with my own number and all those of my friends on.

I was served in the shop by Stephane, who I think is in the French football team. He was unusual for Carphone Warehouse staff in that he didn't look like a fish and could talk. The new phone looks like an icecream wafer, except black, and can take photographs of the Moon. Stephane was nice and transferred all my numbers for me. I think he also sold me insurance. I know I signed something.

Then I went to get a parking permit. Even though I had a photograph of me standing next to my car with the log book and the Minister for Transport with his arm around me and the Chief Exec of the DVLA, my documentation was not adequate. The man serving me looked like a Zulu prince, and was kind. He gave me a month's pass.

I think I'm supposed to get a skip today, but I'm not sure how.

Today and tomorrow I am excavating my cellar. I want it clean, like Michael's, with steel shelving and row after row of bottled fruit. At the moment there is a lawnmower halfway down the stairs. The rest of it is filled with unnamed boxes of pain, and bags of weird.