Monday is for moaning. Not the writhing on the floor kind of moaning, although more of that a little later. It isn’t homage to Moaning Myrtle either, although she was the first, if not the last person to spy on Harry Potter and, of course, Cedric/Edward in the bath – very good taste, positively psychic. Myrtle spied on Robert Pattinson in the tub and nearly all the bubbles in the bath were gone by the time he had cracked the problem (??!). Moaning has its advantages.
Moaning is self-indulgently wallowing in helplessness, the last resort of the powerless. It is negative to the point of passive/aggressive.
So, to moaning. With a world full of problems, I have to narrow down to one thing to moan about; umm, tricky.
I have to moan about shop assistants who chat over my head, and my shopping, on a range of subjects that I don’t get to participate in. What I don’t know about Sharon getting off with Shaun “out the back” isn’t worth knowing. My moan? Either ask for my advice – because there is nothing I’d like more than to have an opinion – or don’t chat through me like I borrowed Harry’s invisibility cloak to add frisson to my weekly shopping date.
If I had borrowed his cloak then there really would be nothing I don’t know about what happened when Sharon and Shaun were found in the fruit and veg cold store when they should have been stocking the frozen meat aisle.
So, as you can see, Moaning Monday did end up back where it started.