And then the time came. And passed. And in amongst the deafening sound of the world not ending and Googling to check what time it was even supposed to be happening I was left thinking that the rapture might be the stupidest thing I've ever heard of.
But it did raise an all important question to ponder as I wandered around my still-intact house this morning, stolen toast in one hand (sorry housemates) and chai in the other: what if the world really was ending?
Quite frankly, I'm reasonably certain I'd be the most useless person in history to be around. I'd probably collect all my favourite books together, go out and buy a puppy and then sit out the end of the world huddled in a corner pretending it all wasn't happening. And I don't honestly think I'd ever be able to collect all my loved ones together to scream and cry together as that would mean admitting the end of the sodding world was actually happening, and I am seriously all about the denial thing.
So, the moral of the story goes something like this: the end of the world/apocalypse/rapture thingamabob appears to have been, gone and been wildly unsuccessful and the most pressing issue in my life is still how much toast I can steal from my housemates without them noticing.