Tomorrow night at 7pm, you'll just have heard what weather's coming to your part of town, Mike McRoberts and Hilary Barry will be saying good night from the news team, and I'll be hoping like hell that my run of terrible luck has ended.
You can't launch a new TV show with bad juju.
By the way, did you know we're launching a new 7pm current affairs show on TV3 tomorrow night? Now you do.
Anyway, my bad luck started two weeks ago when I moved to Auckland. It defies common wisdom but it appears to be 10°C colder in Auckland than in Wellington. Turns out, Wellingtonians build at least some of their houses with insulation.
Incidentally, we'll be doing a story on home insulation on the new show this week. You should tune in.
So, I forgot to check that my Auckland pad had insulation. I forgot Auckland had cold snaps. I forgot my merino and left it in Wellington.
Being cold is a miserable thing. Eating cold chicken because you can't work the microwave - even though you've pressed all the buttons one by one and then together - is a miserable thing.
Having a cold shower because the gas bottle just ran out is, again, a miserable thing.
There's only one thing to do at a time like that: go to the gym and exercise yourself warm. It's a miserable thing when you can't even do that because the newfangled car your Mum has lent you won't open its door. The electronic key is flat.
If, while you're fiddling with a useless key outside a locked car, it starts to rain you can be forgiven for starting to cry.
Thank you, Mum, for driving 45km to deliver an electric blanket, a duvet and dinner.
Actually, while we're on the subject, Mum, thanks for forgiving me for the other car thing. See, the run of bad luck wasn't quite done.
A couple of days later, I lost my credit card - thank you ANZ for capitalising on this moment and charging a replacement-card fee - which I discovered as I was trying to pay for parking at Auckland airport. God bless you, to the guy who answers the help button on those payment kiosks. He let me out.
My run of bad luck was over. I was happy. I loaded my bags into my Mum's car, jumped in and reversed straight into the giant white bollard behind me.
Incidentally, we're doing a story about driving rules in carparks on the new show, so tune in.
Heck, who am I kidding? The show will be fine. When you tune into Story tomorrow night - which you'll do because you now feel sorry for me - you'll be watching a group of some of the country's most passionate reporters and producers.
They're the kind of people who stay up all night surrounded by drunk people because there's a story they need to tell. They're led by a boss who's so determined to put together a kick-arse show she allowed herself only three days off after major surgery last week.
And in the studio sitting next to me you'll watch a man who gets more excited about news than anybody I've ever met. News is like crack to Duncan Garner.
I don't know if my bad luck has ended or not so I have been extra careful crossing roads, using kitchen knives and plugging in heaters.
Incidentally, and while we're on the subject of danger, we're doing a story in the first week about a danger you didn't even know might be under the ground in Auckland.
[Okay, that's enough of the free plugs - Ed]
• Story, tomorrow, 7pm, TV3.