Friday the 5/13th of November

Ah, Friday the 5/13th. The day I realised my calendar had several typos. Also, the day my dog died. I mainly remember the 5/13th for the first thing though - my memory's weird like that.

Anyway, I'd come downstairs, stepped over Rover's corpse, and glanced at my Daily Fake Fact calendar (today's - 'despite his name suggesting otherwise, Guy Fawkes was not, in fact, a guy.') because I wanted to know how long it was until Mumday (thanks to some cockup at the printers,  my wall planner says weeks begin every Mumday).

I was looking forward to Mumday as months ago I'd bought Bustin' Jeeber tickets. Not so I could go though - for some reason the idea of having a whiny racist haircut pout at me for three hours didn't appeal -  no, I wanted to ensure others couldn't. Hence why I'd snapped up every last one. Parents everywhere would be frantically appealing to scalpers and overpriced sites so they could try get some for their tweens but to no avail. At ten o clock on Mumday, Jeeber would be playing to an empty stadium.

Amused by this thought, I looked back at the calendar. Preoccupied by both imagining the look on Bustin''s face and reading the faux Fawkes fact, I'd completely forgotten to register today's date.

Friday the 5/13th of November.

Okay... This could mean several things.

1) Today is Friday 5th November.

2) Today is Friday 13th November.

3) Today, Friday, is only five thirteenths of November (unlikely).

4) Today is actually neither Friday, the fifth or thirteenth, because the calendar is completely wrong (very likely).

I decided to get a second opinion.

'What day is it, Dad?'

'Tuesday.'

'The...'

'The... day after Mumday?'

I sighed. He'd been really into bad jokes since he'd fallen down the stairs.

'What number day is it?'

'Right! It's the ninth.'

'Thank you.'

I went to put my hand in the toaster (I hadn't got anything to retrieve from there - I just wanted to see what it was like to perform exploratory surgery on a robot) but then stopped short of dipping it in.

'Hang on. Tuesday ninth?'

'Yep.'

'Tuesday the ninth of November?'

'Sure is. You need me to write it down?'

'No, that's fine.'

The concert was scheduled to take place on Mumday the eighth. Did that mean -

I flung open the kitchen curtains. Outside, houses burned, cars had been flipped, and posters bearing the smug punchable visage of Jeeber had been ripped down from every lamppost. Evidently the news there was no room in the concert hadn't gone down too well...

'Uh, son?' Dad beckoned me over to the table.

'Yeah?'

'Can you explain this?' He held up his copy of the morning paper. On the front page was a picture of me. Apparently hell hath no fury like a Bustin' fan denied and they'd managed to trace all the tickets back to my server. Oh crap...

That totally reminds me - Friday the 5/13th of November is also the day I had to change my identity and skip town for fear of being torn apart by an angry mob! I'd completely forgotten. As I said (or maybe I didn't), my memory's weird like that...