Do unlucky things always come in threes?


It was around this time last year that I wrote my first blog post, following a series of unfortunate events that caused me to look at my life as something ridiculous that can hit you with bouts of unlucky incidents. Those incidents were threefold; a poo on my car, a beating outside KFC, and a restaurant fire. Now August has rolled around again, and coincidentally or not coincidentally, I have entered another unlucky period. So far there have only been two unlucky incidents which causes me to think, do unlucky things always come in threes?

The first, as could be predicted, involves my car Ralfred. Except this time it wasn’t just a poo, or an electric shock, or an engine default. It was a full-blown M4 high-speed collision. A minivan full of foreign workers drove slap bang straight into my rear, and 3 cars followed it. The conclusion = Ralfred has to be written off and sold for scrap. I literally just teared up as I wrote that. 5 beautiful years that car has lasted me, only to be destroyed by a twat who wasn’t looking at the road. It’s safe to say me and Ralfred have been through the wars recently; I wrote about the bus incident but since then we’ve had even more dramas – I arrived at Glastonbury, left my car briefly and came back only to discover I’d locked my keys in the boot. Then followed a rather extensive search in an Oxfam van for a wire or metal or spatula or anything that could open my lock; this failed, so I got a clawhammer and gaffa tape and prepared to smash in the window. I must have looked like a loony because three lads came over to stop me, and instead proceeded to use the hammer to claw open the door so I could reach in and open the lock. This was most likely a worse idea because my door is now permanently open at the top, but hey ho. Said lads then gave me a vodka jelly to celebrate, called me bumbag lady, and went on their way.

After all the dents and abuse I was fully aware that Ralfred was on his way out, but didn’t prepare for him to be outed by a van on the motorway or the whiplash that came with it. I also didn’t prepare to be traumatised by motorways, so attempted to drive my mums car the next day only to have a mental breakdown any time a car came remotely close to me. All in all not a good few days really. I refuse to get rid of my car until we’ve had a final goodbye, and I have a feeling it will come in the form of some kind of parody gangsta video. Y’know, standard Ralfred behaviour.

The second unlucky incident happened the day after Ralfred’s demise. I was trying to sort my life out and realised that £500 had disappeared from my account. Great timing when I’ve just quit my job and now have to find a new car. The bank couldn’t do anything (helpful beings that they are), and I couldn’t do anything except wait around until the bank finally decided to find a brain cell and get my moneys back. Only took 10 days of living on frozen vegetables and baked beans.


And now I’m back from Boardmasters festival, the site of last years poos and girl fights, having survived (just about) and wondering where the next unlucky thing will come from. To be fair we did have a rather unlucky time in Newquay; hurricane Bertha came along to ruin all our fun and take some tents with her meaning the festival was cancelled early and we missed Bastille and George Ezra. I’m not quite sure I can include that in my lifestyle fails though because as unfortunate as it was, it wasn’t really a personal attack on me. And in true festival spirit we carried on drinking bags of wine the whole way home and went out with a bang in Bristol, still in the festival fashion of course (we even tried to make a duvet tent in the living room). The rest of Boardmasters was most certainly ridiculous and hilarious… Many tequila bombs were had (at worrying times of day), pasties were scoffed, dares were played out, trolleys and tent bags became methods of transportation, bumbags became our life. And we saw snoop dogg.. what more can be said.


5pm tequila bombs


Standard travelling in a trolley


Bum bag mania

So what will the next incident be? I should probably be acting like an OCD paranoid freak, looking around every corner and mentally preparing for a piano to fall on my head or something. And understandable though that may be, I don’t see the point of living life in fear. Luck may not have my best interests at heart, and August may be the month that life does not love Joy, but I’m not going to let it ruin my fun. I’m going to go with the flow, take life as it comes and when the next poo comes along I’ll be ready to laugh and add it to this ridiculous thing that is my life.



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