Wright On! A wry look at life, with Shelley Wright

I DON'T know what is wrong with me at the moment but I've been in a terrible, terrifyingly bad temper for weeks and I feel like my head is going to explode with rage.

Now I'd like to blame this current black mood on the irrepressible onset of winter, these dismally dark mornings, nights that begin at 4pm and the fact I don't know what I'm doing on Millennium Eve yet - but anyone who really knows me to any degree will just tell you they have nothing to do with it and I'm just a grumpy, cantankerous old cow at times.

My long-suffering mum, dad and older brother, bless his heart, know only too well what I'm like on a bad day, while it may also be some indication that when I told a colleague what I was writing about this week he replied: "Grumpy? You? No!"

But isn't everybody at some point? I mean, I can think of a few other Victor Meldrews currently trying to give me a run for my money in the East Lancashire Face Ache Stakes - though I think I'm still narrowly in the lead when it comes to consistent moaning, moping, pouting and generally pulling my face.

And that's not to mention snapping angrily at anyone who has got in my way in recent weeks.

I've been absolutely furious with my dad - though I can't for the life of me think why.

I'm just fed-up. All right mate?

It's not just my dad though, I've got a downer on everyone at the moment and mostly - well, today anyway - I hate the army of unknowns who have taken to knocking on my door at night. I mean, haven't they got anything better to do than to come round knocking at my house, pestering me?

It started about a month ago when the trick or treaters decided two weeks 'till Hallowe'en was close enough for them to start canvassing the neighbourhood dressed as the little devils they actually are and it seems like I've been plagued non-stop ever since.

Now I actually like kids, though I couldn't eat a full one, as my dad would say, but I don't want them begging and blackmailing me on my own doorstep. I don't know why they bother with this "Trick or Treat" rubbish either, I mean, "Give us all your money or we'll slash your tyres" would be more to the point.

And what about the safety aspect? One lone teeny bopper called at my house late one night and held her hand out, asking for trouble, if you ask me, in her mini-skirt and red flashing devil's horns.

Now she looked scared when I opened the door, growling at the fact she'd disturbed my supper and menacingly clutching an Ikea fork - but she could so easily have chanced upon a real psychopath, be dragged inside and chopped into little pieces by someone who would probably flush her flashing headband down the loo along with her arms and legs.

As it happened I gave her the pick of my Miniature Heroes and she went on her way but I was left wondering why I had given someone I don't know my last 'ickle Twirl.

Luckily the lack of local bonfires put paid to the Penny for the Guy scam but it won't be long before carol singers start interrupting Coronation Street and the Bettaware Christmas Catalogue drops through the door, tempting me with the latest toe-straightener or must-have gadget of the year.

Bah! Humbug! I say. I wish they'd all just leave me alone. Mind you, if I don't snap out of this bad mood soon, so might everyone else eh?

Converted for the new archive on 14 July 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.