Today, I spat out the word “…wanker” under my breath and/or in my head, in the direction of fourteen people.

Several were on public transport. At least three were inside a building. One was on the end of a phone line. A couple were in the vicinity of cash registers (one in front, one behind).

I also cried once: a dozen hot, silent, frustrated tears, into cupped hands in front of my face.

I think this is my subconscious’ way of telling me I need a holiday.

Luckily, there’s one just around the corner, in the form of a five day break to a tiny island in the Hebrides - though not the one I usually go to. That one required a twelve hour journey, door to door. The one I’m going to tomorrow morning will take only three hours to reach, including time spent hanging about in airports.

I bloody need it.