Eight red pegs

Years and years ago it happened; a frail old Gypsy woman knocked at my front door. Normally when I'm at the drawing board i ignore knocks and phone calls(or, in most cases, can't hear over the music), but that day, for some strange, uncharacteristic reason, i stopped what i was doing and answered the door.


Don't know why; it could've bin a double-glazing salesman, or a Jehovah's witness, but maybe i thort it was the Fed Ex man with a box full of complementary comics from across the seas, or an over sized gift from an adoring fan.


Whatever the reason, it's one i will forever regret.


The tiny bent woman, laden with bags and battered shopping trolley, stood looking up at me, with a toothless grin she wished me the best of the day, then tried to sell me a bath sponge.


I nodded a 'no thanks'.


Then she tried to sell me some tea towels, then some biro's, then cotton buds, and...and i kept nodding the no thanks nod. Each nod more forceful than the last, and slowly i started to inch the door shut. She persisted, her hand holding out a bag of eight red pegs, reaching past the door frame and into the 'personal space' of my home. I'd had enough, my patience was gone, i swore under my breath and pushed on the door, nearly trapping her hand.


Just as the door shut i saw her face glaring at me, her left eye yellow and wide, the pupil tiny and black. And that's when it happened, that's the moment. That's when i was cursed.


The gypsy cast a black spell. And i was cursed.
Since that day.

That's why I've suffered ill health and misfortune. That's why girlfriends have dumped me, why my career is always stalling and taking nosedives, why my roof leaked, why my boiler conked out, why I've replaced my TV four times in five years, why i broke my specs, why i always burn the toast and miss doctor's appointments and buses and birthdays. That's why I'm always treading in dog shit, walking into lampposts, spilling red wine on carpets, burning my hands on saucepans. And it's why editors and writers ignore my e-mails, and why the computer crashes, why sometimes i can't get on line and why sometimes i cant FUCKING post pictures on this blog!


'Technical difficulties', that's horseshit, it's the CURSE, it's not Tiscali or Blogger, it's bad magic.
No eight red pegs, no Uggly Monday, no Freaky Friday.

Careful next time there's a knock at YOUR door...