Life Is A Transverse Okey Cokey - Up, Down, Up, Down, Shaken All About!

I'm a pretty down to earth kind of chap when it comes to life, you know.
No-one has ever said that I'm away with the fairies - not since my acquittal, anyway! I could hardly be called a dreamer, a bit New Age or gullible, and I have never claimed to be some kind of spiritual medium (I'm XXL, in fact). No, sitting around, holding hands and being complicated while surrounded by crystals with mythical powers in an effort to get in tune with Flange, the god of inner well-being, is just not my cup of sparkling mineral water.
I am conservative with a small "c", a realist shot through with gallons of cynicism, someone who sticks his finger in the sphincter of the unproven and tweaks the nose of hippyish ideas.
It is somewhat worrying, therefore, that I have come to believe in "biorhythms". There HAS to be something in them. There is no other way of explaining life. Discuss? Ok, I will.

Today, shortly after midnight (note, just after the clock ticked into Tuesday), I was contacted by a good and lovely friend who had not spoken to me for more than a week. I had been rude to her while tired and grumpy and she had, understandably, got cross. We spoke again and put our tiff behind us.
About five hours later I awoke to glorious sunshine. I had breakfast in the toasty warmth of my kitchen and then shaved and showered in equally glorious hot water. I received some good news in the post concerning a job I am going for. The rest of the mail consisted of a cheque from my former employer for some profit share payout I am apparently entitled to, a letter from a mate, a bank statement and a magazine I subscribe to (no, don't go racing ahead. I withdrew my subscription to Big Girls Wobbly Bits Monthly a while back).
I chatted on the phone to a couple of friends who are anxious to hook up and both invited me down/up to stay for a weekend. Another friend e-mailed to say that they still do work for an outfit I am applying to and could give me some useful tips and info for a forthcoming interview.
The dogs have snoozed peacefully in between playing nicely and quietly together in the garden. I, in the meantime, have done some work and e-mailed it off. I shall go out for a pint later, read the papers, have a bag of dry roast and no doubt contemplate how good life is. I shall then be cooking beef Wellington for dinner. Delicious.












Yesterday, I awoke as exactly the same Reg Pither. I had not undergone some cruel medical experiment in the night to completely change my personality. The Americans had not, I was pretty sure, carried out some kind of war games test on the atmosphere in the wee small hours. There was, however, snow on the ground and it was bloody freezing. The house was like an icebox and I soon discovered why - the central heating was on the blink. I couldn't shower because there was only ice cold water and I cut myself to ribbons trying to shave in same.
The post consisted of a threatening letter from the bank, my phone bill, a job application "Dear John" and YET ANOTHER FUCKING FLYER FROM A PIZZA PARLOUR!
The dogs were utter arses all day, fighting and barking in the garden, crapping in the hall and getting their muddy paw marks on virtually all the things I had worked so hard to clean over the weekend.
During the course of the day I chatted with two friends who proceeded to criticise the way I was living and one of them slammed the phone down in a huff - I swear, I had said nothing to prompt either outburst. I later chatted online to two people, one of whom tried to borrow money off me while lacing the talk with copious amounts of bullshit and the other got angry when I said I had to sign off as I had some work to do and so said they would never contact me again.
There was only cold chicken left over from Sunday for dinner and at one point I caught Caty, paws up on the dining table, licking it!!
Right, now you explain it to me? Two days, back to back, exactly the same Reg Pither involved in both. No change in attitude, approach, manner or anything else. So why does one day turn out to be lovely and the other about as good as the day the first person showed up in casualty in Europe suffering from the Black Death?
It's biorhythms, I tell you! You don't change, they do! They dictate that, some days, you may fall in a bucket of shit but will still come up smelling of roses but, on other days, if you are picked for a marching band you will be playing the piano!
I am just revelling in an upturn in my rhythms today and enjoying it while it lasts. No doubt tomorrow I will be arrested for war crimes, have my house repossessed and my genitals confiscated.
Biorhythms? It's off to Grantham with you. Give me a steady, albeit predictable, life.