Walking Under Ladders

Only the really superstitious would not say anything in case.  I mean how can saying anything affect the outcome.  It's either going to happen or it isn't, isn't it?

So.  If all goes to plan I should be moving this Saturday.  I suppose I could always do something to fuck things up like greet my new landlord with a headbutt, but that's unlikely.  Or my terminal swearing condition could rear its head.  I've been so good recently around The Girls.  I really don't want Baby C's first English word to be cunt.

And through some good old arse-shifting it looks like I've got another morning job sorted.  Plus some eccentric lady who wants me to help pack up her flat.  Plus some babysitting.  So, all in all, it looks like I won't starve and will have my own front door to slam soon.

But I'm not saying anything, ok.