I’m commencing this narrative while on telephone hold to the HMRC. This necessitated by the revenue collectors, who in their wisdom have cocked up my Tax Code; looking like I’ll have to send them the shirt off my back….. Thank god I’ve more than one shirt.

Thus far I’ve been waiting 25 minutes for an advisor to respond, which is longer than it takes to hard boil an egg….. Unless you want to completely solidify it’s interior and use it as a weapon.

Right, I’ve just come off the phone with the HMRC. I’d a cordial chat with a personable tax advisor who re-assured me they don’t want the shirt of my back. Merely the cuff buttons and collar…… As a man of sartorial elegance, I just hope grandad shirts are back en vogue soon!

Anyhow, I put down the receiver with a great deal more esprit than yours truly displayed while dialling Her Majesty’s Revenue & Customs. To say I had a spring in my step post call would be over egging the pudding, (blimey back on the subject of eggs!). However, I did almost smile, which isn’t ordinarily my ‘go to’ emotion of choice.

It’s Friday the 13th today. A day folklore proffers will be filled with poor serendipity and anxiety. Circumstances of bad luck which, if old wives tale bear a shred of truth, can be warded off by carrying around a rabbit’s foot or a horseshoe.

For these relying on horseshoes as protection from misfortune, I’d recommend using a shoe not attached to the horse. I’m guessing here, but I hold some confidence Neddy won’t be overly enamoured if you attempt to jemmy the item from his hoof….. Consequently, kicking out violently during your endeavours to undertake the jeopardous fete.

To be honest, even if today does play out as folklore claims, with it being the year 2020 it’ll surely only appear as 24 hours of business as normal.

Indeed, some friends on social media have gone one further, claiming this morning’s news of the Yorkshire Ripper’s passing maybe indicating Friday the 13th 2020 maybe only day of serendipity we’ll experience this annus horribilis.

For the uninitiated, the Ripper a mass murdering piece of crap named Peter Sutcliffe. An odious man who terrorised women, mainly ‘ladies of the night’, in the north of England during the late 1970’s/early 1980’s.

Apparently the former Bradford lorry driver, who murdered 13 women, died after he’d turned down treatment for COVID-19. The monstrous man deciding to take his chances at fighting the disease himself, after deeming it unlikely COVID treatment included having a sharp metal stick hammered up his ass….. Without anaesthetic!

Anyhow, there’ll not be many people who react to news of his death with tears…… Unless, of course, they’re peeling onions when the BBC News makes them aware of the incident.

My thoughts that Friday the 13th 2020 would only bear news of good fortune was a tad immature, as I’ve just spent the last two hours awaiting for wifi access to re-establish.

An inconvenience, but at least an episode far less concerning and painful than the op the Yorkshire Ripper declined.