Let there be shiny things

Have you ever had one of those days when things have gone a bit suspiciously right?

Look:

• My new shiny car arrived exactly when it was supposed to, and all seems to be correct (i.e. it's a brand new Corsa as opposed to a lime green 1983 Skoda, as per my dream last night.)
• The people at the Tower Hamlets parking place were both friendly and (fairly) efficient.
• My iPod played a random selection of jaunty tunes on the way to work.
• As I left the building, the postman was coming in, and he gave me a parcel which wouldn't have fitted through my letter box. Had I left five minutes earlier, I'd have been forced to go to the hell that is Bethnal Green sorting office to collect it.
• My cold hasn't yet monopolised my day.

Of course I realise what's happened. I haven't yet woken up. When I do, I'll be fluey, my green Skoda will be waiting for me outside - clamped owing to parking restrictions, and I'll have six hundred packages to collect from Emma Street sorting office.

I haven't yet told my old car about the new car. It doesn't know its death sentence is approaching. I know that sounds dramatic, but I love my old car so much. I really do feel like I'm putting down the family pet. But that deserves another entry. And maybe a sonnet.

Just to lighten the mood - a horribly politically incorrect joke for you (a public domain joke - not my own): "Ipswich has a dyslexic Santa. Keeps leaving prozzies under the tree..."

Oh come on, admit it. You laughed. Now go away and think about what you've done.