Dear Diary: My Week in Hell (Thanks, Horoscope)

Monday, 23rd October

Dear Diary,

Well, I've officially hit rock bottom. And it's all because I'm apparently an idiot who believes in astrology now.

It started this morning when I grabbed a coffee and saw the newspaper horoscope. "Beware of water today, Scorpio." Normally, I'd ignore this rubbish, but something made me read it. Maybe because Karen from accounting is always going on about "the universe sending signs."

So I decided to be extra careful around water. Skipped my shower (gross, I know). Avoided the coffee machine. Carried my umbrella even though it was sunny. I felt pretty clever, actually.

Then I walked straight into the fountain at City Centre Mall.

Not around it. INTO it. Because I was so busy looking up at the sky for rain clouds that I didn't see the giant fountain directly in front of me. Went down like a sack of bricks, arms flailing, briefcase flying. The splash was apparently spectacular - some kid yelled "CANNONBALL!"

My phone was in my pocket - completely dead. That cute barista from this morning had written her number on my coffee cup, which was now a soggy, illegible mess floating next to me like a sad paper boat. I tried to save it, but it just disintegrated in my hands like wet tissue.

But wait, it gets worse. The bus driver took one look at me, dripping all over his floor and shook his head. "Sorry mate, you're making a puddle. Walk it off." So there I was, soaking wet, trudging home in my squishy shoes that made embarrassing squelching sounds with every step.

And then - because the universe apparently has a quota for irony - it started raining. Hard. So my umbrella, which I'd carried all day for protection from the very water I was already soaked in, finally became useful for the 20-minute walk of shame home.

A group of teenagers filmed the whole fountain incident and I'm pretty sure I'm going viral as "Fountain Guy."

Oh, and the Housing Minister got caught running 25 illegal HMOs without proper licences. Even the government is having water problems - drowning in scandal. At least I'm not the only one making a splash today.

The universe has a sick sense of humour.

Jerry

Tuesday, 24th October

Dear Diary,

I should have learnt my lesson yesterday, but apparently I'm a glutton for punishment.

Today's horoscope: "A tall dark stranger will bring chaos to your day."

I spent the entire day playing some demented game of hide-and-seek with anyone over 5'8" with dark hair. Ducked behind cars in car parks. Hid in toilet stalls when I spotted potential "threats" entering buildings. The low point was army-crawling under a table at Starbucks when a tall brunette walked in. I stayed there for fifteen minutes, knees burning on the rough carpet, listening to her order a venti caramel macchiato.

The barista crouched down and asked if I was having a medical emergency. I had to pretend I'd dropped my contact lens. I don't wear contact lenses.

At work, I took the stairs exclusively to avoid lifts with tall, dark-haired people. By lunch, my legs felt like jelly. I ate a sad sandwich in the supply cupboard because the canteen had too many potential "chaos bringers."

I thought I was so clever. Made it through the whole workday without talking to a single tall, dark person. Felt like I'd beaten the system.

Then I got home and my neighbour Miguel knocked on my door. Miguel is 6'2" and has black hair. He was there to tell me my car was being towed because I'd parked it half on the pavement, half in Mrs Peterson's prized flower bed. Apparently, when you're dodging "dangerous" people all day, you don't park very well. Her tulips looked like they'd been through a blender.

Saw on the news that a minister lost the party whip over a cash-for-access inquiry. Apparently, tall dark strangers bringing chaos isn't just my problem - though I bet that minister didn't have to army-crawl under any tables.

Chaos: delivered. Universe: 2, Jerry: 0.

Why do I keep reading this thing?

Jerry

Wednesday, 25th October

Dear Diary,

I'm writing this from my car because I can't go inside my flat. There's a red fire engine parked outside and I refuse to go near it. I've been sitting here for two hours.

Today's cosmic wisdom: "Avoid the colour red at all costs."

I threw away my red shirts this morning (goodbye, favourite Cardinals jersey - £60 down the drain). Wouldn't eat the strawberries I bought yesterday. Crossed the road every time I saw a red car, which in hindsight is a lot more often than you'd think. I must have walked an extra three miles in zigzags. My fitness tracker thinks I had the most active day of my life.

The low point was lunch. I was finally relaxing at Giuseppe's, enjoying my first normal moment in days, when a woman in a bright red dress walked in. I panicked and locked myself in the loo for 45 minutes. Sat on the toilet seat, scrolling through my phone, listening to the lunch crowd come and go. The restaurant staff knocked twice, asking if I was all right.

Missed my 2 PM meeting with Mr Henderson about the big client presentation I've been hoping to lead. His assistant rang later. Apparently, he waited 20 minutes and then gave the presentation opportunity to Brad. BRAD, diary. The bloke who microwaves fish in the break room and uses Comic Sans in his presentations.

I'm currently staring at a stop sign that I need to walk past to get home, but it's red and I'm not taking any chances. Mrs Chen from 3B walked by an hour ago and asked if I was having a breakdown. She told me the fire engine is here because Emma from 2A had an air fryer fire - apparently, the firemen are taking their sweet time "helping" her clean up. Can't say I blame them; Emma's gorgeous. But now my flat reeks of burnt chip fat, which somehow feels like another cosmic punishment.

I told Mrs Chen I was "waiting for the right moment." She backed away slowly.

The government lost a major vote on taxation reform today. Guess they should have avoided the colour red too - all those red dispatch boxes must be cursed. At least when I avoid important meetings, I don't crash the economy.

Maybe I am having a breakdown.

Jerry

Thursday, 26th October

Dear Diary,

I think I'm losing my mind. Today's horoscope said my lucky numbers were 3, 7, and 12. LUCKY numbers, diary. I thought, finally, something good!

I caught my reflection in the bathroom mirror this morning and barely recognised myself. Haven't shaved since Monday, my hair is sticking up in three different directions (ironically, that felt cosmically significant), and I've got dark circles under my eyes that make me look like I haven't slept in days. I'm pretty sure my shirt has fountain water stains that never came out.

I became completely obsessed with the numbers. Only bought 3 items at every shop, which meant seven separate trips to get groceries. Took the lift to the 7th floor twelve times at work (I work on the 4th floor). My colleagues started actively avoiding me. Janet from HR cornered me and asked if I was "going through something" because I looked like "a man on the edge."

When I got to work, Brad actually asked if I was ill. BRAD was concerned about MY wellbeing. That's when you know you've hit rock bottom.

I set 12 alarms on my phone at different intervals. Ordered 3 dozen doughnuts for the office because the number felt "cosmically powerful." Thirty-six chocolate-glazed doughnuts for eight people. Everyone looked at me like I'd lost my mind when I wheeled in this tower of sugar at 9 AM. Karen from accounting whispered to someone that I was "having some kind of breakdown."

The doughnuts made half the office sick because apparently that much sugar before noon is "excessive" and "why are they ALL chocolate glazed, Jerry?" Brad was sick in the break room sink.

I got stuck in the lift for 2 hours when it broke down between floors 6 and 7 - so close to my lucky floor! Had to wee so badly I was doing a little dance. The maintenance bloke who finally rescued me took one look at my wild hair and bloodshot eyes and asked if I needed him to ring someone. "You look like you need help, mate. Maybe someone should come get you?"

And those 12 alarms? They went off every hour throughout the night. I got maybe 20 minutes of sleep total between the constant beeping. I'm basically a walking zombie at this point. My hands are shaking from exhaustion and too much coffee.

BREAKING NEWS: Prime Minister just went to the Queen, suspended Parliament, and called a general election. The whole government is falling apart just like me. Maybe we're all following the same horoscope. Even the PM looks like he hasn't slept - though his hair is better than mine.

My "lucky" numbers have made this the unluckiest day yet. I'm starting to think the universe is personally trolling me.

But tomorrow will be different. I can feel it. I have to believe it, because I don't think I can survive another day like this.

Jerry

Friday, 27th October

Dear Diary,

I'M FREE!

This morning's horoscope said something ridiculous like "Beware: Mercury is in microwave", which doesn't even make astronomical sense. I stared at it for about 30 seconds, then crumpled it up and threw it in the bin with more force than necessary.

"No more," I said out loud to my empty flat. "I'm living like a normal human being today."

And diary, it was MAGICAL.

I took a proper shower - hot water, good soap, the works. Wore whatever clothes I wanted (including a red tie, just because I could). Walked in straight lines instead of zigzagging around "dangerous" people and objects. Bought exactly what I needed without counting items or obsessing over cosmic numbers. It felt like being released from prison.

And everything went RIGHT. Mr Henderson rang me into his office first thing and gave me the promotion after all! Turns out Brad had screwed up spectacularly during his prep work; he somehow managed to email the entire client presentation to our biggest competitor instead of saving it to the company server. Henderson said he'd "never seen such creative incompetence" and decided I was clearly the better choice for Senior Account Manager.

I stopped for celebratory coffee and the cute barista (tall with dark hair - blimey!) not only remembered me but gave me her number again. Her name is Sarah and she has the most amazing smile. Turns out she'd been hoping I'd come back after my "fountain incident" - apparently she thought it was "endearingly clumsy." We're getting dinner tomorrow.

On the walk back to work, I found a £20 note just lying on the pavement. A crisp twenty! I looked around for someone who might have dropped it, but the street was empty. The universe was finally paying me back.

I felt like a genius. A man of science who had overcome superstition through pure rational thinking and willpower.

Then I met Dave for drinks to celebrate, and I told him my whole ridiculous week. I was feeling pretty smug about my "liberation from cosmic tyranny," really laying it on thick about how I'd "defeated the forces of irrationality."

Dave listened to everything, nodding along and trying not to laugh, and then said: "Mate, you know you've been reading the wrong horoscope all week, right? You're a Sagittarius, not a Scorpio."

I just stared at him. My pint halfway to my mouth, frozen.

"Yeah," he continued, pulling out his phone with a grin. "Look, here's Sagittarius for this week: 'Great fortune awaits. Trust your instincts and good things will follow. Lucky days ahead.'"

Diary, I've been torturing myself for four days following some random Scorpio's horoscope whilst my actual sign was basically saying "chill out, everything's brilliant."

I sat there for a full minute, processing this. Then I started laughing. Couldn't stop. Laughed until my sides hurt and Dave was looking concerned. I'd been my own worst enemy, creating disasters out of thin air whilst my real horoscope was cheering me on from the sidelines.

New polls show the opposition surging after yesterday's election call. Turns out, when you stop making terrible decisions based on paranoia, things improve. Who knew? Maybe the PM should try reading Sagittarius instead of whatever sign he's been following.

I don't know whether to feel like an idiot or a genius. Actually, definitely an idiot. But a happy idiot with a promotion, a date, and twenty extra quid.

Never reading another horoscope again.

(But maybe I should check what Sagittarius says for tomorrow. Just to be safe. For scientific purposes only, of course.)

Jerry

P.S. - I'm definitely reading it tomorrow. Sarah might want to know what the stars have planned for our date.