Swings and roundabouts a-go-go

Yup. Worst sleep ever! But, off to the grindstone once more! Today’s Schedule: work like a dog from 7.30 till 4.30; coupla hours of Sums, still hunched at my desk under the office lights; march into town for fightclub; take train home, bwahahaha, now that I have Funds and all; do some housework.

Well, miracles will never cease – someone at work has done my work. And, after all my giving out about him in advance, the Elf is perfectly – perfectly – intelligible on the tape. More so than some others (Dr Marbles, I am looking at you). So there we are, I was given misinformation (“you can’t make out a WORD!”) and I ran with it. My bad.

I had to fight a lassie at fightclub exactly half my age, tonight. My, I must up my attendance at once, or the new crop will overtake me! Heh. Right, the train home!

No sign of the train home. Bah. I had forgotten how reliable public transport can be.

When I eventually got in, I discovered someone has not only cleaned the bathroom (a novelty in itself) but has even cleaned behind the loo.

(I think the last time someone I shared with cleaned behind the loo, it was when I spent that year in France – I slept in this one time, by half an hour, and when I ran out, the guys complained that they had to clean behind the loo and ‘it was awful’ and ‘there was a big toad there!’ And that they had to make their own coffee. (It is worth pointing out that, every single other morning, after I cleaned the loo (and the gym) and cleaned the kitchen and made the coffee for all (and hauled 80 litres of food and water for the pigs), ‘our’ day of labouring began. In many ways, I do not miss my life there.

Before that, I think the last time someone I shared with cleaned behind the loo, it was Rev Cheese, who was subletting a cupboard for the fortnight. This was back in the nineties.)

You know, living with this pair is already getting downright weird. Though I realise the above anecdotes do not help my case there).

So about the one thing that went right was talking to the new flatmates about this potential third flatmate who wants to come and stay in May. Yeah verily, when I sent out emails to all who had expressed an interest, informing them that the room was taken, I got only one response, which was from her, and lo, she was quite irate. Possibly due to a miscommunication, but while I would have been willing to hold a room for six weeks if someone had seen and definitely agreed to take it, I’m not gonna hold one for over two months on the word of someone I haven’t even met yet that they ‘probably’ want it. And I never said that I would, dammit.

However, she then got back to me with a suggestion that she could take the studio instead, till such time as they move out. Okay… lemonade out of lemons and all that, full marks there. And that would mean I had someone queued up for right after they moved out. And the studio is rentable – if I just haul two freezers, a big, full bookshelf, a mountain-bike and all the home-brewing stuff out of it, to, um… my room, I suppose. And stick in a wardrobe, which can at least be done by gutting out one of my wardrobes. Maybe it could swap with the big bookshelf. So I’ll be monstrously put out, and living among perilously tottery towers of Gumf for a fortnight, but defrosting freezers is a Thing Wot Will Need Done At Some Point, ditto with the gutting out the books and clothes. Think of it as being paid to do stuff you would have to do for free!

… As long as everyone else is not Monstrously Put Out too. And did my new Latvian flatties not rent the place on the grounds that there would not be the renting out of the third room?

So I said she could have the place for a hundred quid for a fortnight – IF they agreed. I figured they wouldn’t.

They did. So that’s my life gubbed for a fortnight. Hee.

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About beshemoth

Mainly making art, making wine, writing and gardening. Having a life only as the above allows.
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