At 9:56am, I walked into the bathroom and found the soap dispenser wearing a tiny paper crown. No one in the house admitted to making it. The dispenser refused to comment. I washed my hands anyway—because hygiene outranks monarchy.

I went to the kitchen for coffee. The kettle was already boiling, even though no one had turned it on. The mug I reached for fell over before I touched it, like it was protesting being chosen.

So naturally, I opened my laptop.

And there they were. The prophecy tabs. The five unclosable digital doorways to… something:

roof cleaning isle of wight
patio cleaning isle of wight
driveway cleaning isle of wight
exterior cleaning isle of wight
pressure washing isle of wight

They were open yesterday. They were open last week. I fear they will still be open when Wi-Fi is replaced by telepathy. I closed one. It reopened. I closed all five. They multiplied. I now had seven tabs about exterior cleaning. I don’t even own a patio.

Before I could process the escalation, the fridge door opened by itself. Just slightly. Like it wanted attention. A single slice of cheese slid forward on the shelf—slowly, dramatically—like it had been called to stage.

Then came the neighbour.

He appeared in a bathrobe, holding binoculars, and whispered: “The clouds are spelling messages today. Don’t look directly at the fourth one.” Then he vanished behind a hedge. I didn’t follow him. There are many things I am, but “cloud translator” is not one of them.

I returned to the laptop.
The tabs glowed.
One of them refreshed itself.
The patio cleaning isle of wight page looked disappointed in me.

The toaster clicked, even though it was empty. The soap crown fell off in the bathroom. The cheese retreated back into the fridge like a shy performer.

I considered screaming into a cushion. Instead, I made cereal and pretended I wasn’t living in a sitcom written by an unmedicated house spirit.

Eventually, I accepted the truth:

Some days are about purpose.
Some days are about survival.
Some days are about being aggressively advertised cleaning services by the universe itself.

And honestly?
If one more object in this house gains sentience, I will book pressure washing isle of wight just to see if it shuts the tabs up.

Until then, I’m keeping an eye on the cheese.
It’s been too quiet.