You know it is going to be a bad day at work...

...you stupidly arrange a phone call for 8:30am with a senior director in the business when you don't actually have to be in until 9am. And because you were running late, you rush from your flat with taking the normally essential last piss before walking in - after all, you can go when you get into the office.

But no. The toilets on our floor are fucked. The toilets on the floor above are fucked. The toilets on the floor below are working, but the people who work there hate us so they won't let us use their toilets. So now I'm gagging for a slash, and can't go (and where I work, the only businesses with loos are the pubs. Which aren't open for a good two hours). And to top it all off, the senior director has just e-mailed me to say he is running late and won't be in until 9am!

It is the little frustrations that so do my head in. And, in this case, my bladder as well.