Have a nice day - don't you dare.

I had a most satisfactory morning shouting at people and making things go my way. I took myself to Kingston and took back stupid, actually ridiculous, salad servers given to us by mother-in-law. No wonder they weren't much cop, she didn't spend much.

I bought myself some superior chopping boards with plastic labels hinting what you must chop on each one. They come in a smart steel holder and look frightfully professional. We can't understand all the pictures and so will subversively chop meat on the vegetable one and cross contaminate away like we have been doing for the last 50 years. They were marked with the wrong price so I made the assistant go and check and bring me the right ones at the right price. That's better. Good heavens, what are assistants for if not to assist and put up with me being horrible to them?

I moaned in Gap that the slippers Mr Smith bought me were stupidly small. Apparently they are American sizes and my British feet are much too large. I got a bigger size; I'm not sure I like them all that much any more but Thank you nice assistant in Gap for being the only person not to irritate me all morning.

I shouted at the man who washed my car because he insisted on using wax when I asked him not to. They charge extra and I didn't want to pay it. He then had no change. I paid him a few pounds and wished him a rotten New Year. I'm in that sort of mood. I took delight in making the idiot girl ring up my purchases in Whitestuff then changing my mind and paying cash thus rendering a till inoperable for the rest of the day. I refused to touch the fishmonger's smelly plastic bag handle and got him to place my purchases in my own bag without touching anything - I gave him the exact money along with a withering look. I tried on a coat that was much too small (the same one as earlier in the week in a different branch). I nearly wrenched off the button - woops. I pointed out the "faulty" button and told the girl to mend it. There was a dreadful mess on the floor of the dustpan and brush department of John Lewis. They told me they couldn't clear it up because it wasn't their job; they had to send for a cleaner. I asked the young man exactly how fucking idle you have to be to work in John Lewis?

I can't think of anyone else to whom I was beastly but the day is but young. Actually, if this cough doesn't improve I may be dead by the end of it.