It rhymes with "clucking bell"

On Sunday I took delivery of my nearly new sofa-cum-bed thingumie from Adrian, and his friend Patrick who was doing the selling. They assembled the whole thing for me, then Patrick went the extra mile by running down to his car, grabbing a gimlet and a serious drill bit, and drilling the pair of holes his flex could reach. Legend.

Inspired by the thought of lights withing 24 hours, I got a drill from Joonas that night, and was up bright and early (read: before 11am) making holes in my walls this morning.

Against all the odds I seemed to be getting somewhere. After about an hour all the holes in the wall were, well, holes rather than depressions. In jubilation I started screwing in the anchors for the cables. All went well until the third one became a little stiff. "Use the wrench over there" said the genius part of me. So I did. And after a couple of swift and painless turns, the hook came right off, leaving me with a hook head, and a painfully drilled hole filled with screw. Bollocks! I supressed some murderous rage. "Okay... calm... okay," I thought, "I'll just finish the fucking... no, calm, the hole in the ceiling, and sort that out later."

On to the ceiling. I vented my murderous rage, which just resulted in the mangling of an innocent drill bit... "Reinforcement! Bugger! Perkele! Putain du bordelle de merde!" So now I need a new drill bit, have to drill two more holes, find an anchor, file down the bastard broken screw, buy polyfilla, clean up the mess, and install the freakin light system. Wonderful.

On the upside the cycle in to work was marvellous, I've just gone to my first Taekwondo training which was great, and erm... I can curse fluently in three languages. Well, that's enough to be happy about for now.