retrospective one: the internet is back
On my first night in the new place I was not actually in the new place, I was in Suffolk, sleeping on a curious (but not uncomfortable) armchair-sofa hybrid rigged up by my aunt. There was in fact a bedroom upstairs, with two beds, but that room belonged to the new cat. It needs its space. Nerves, you understand.
I was in Suffolk to see the Christmas show my cousin’s partner writes and stars in. This year, the show was entitled (overentitled, some might say) The Mystery of the Blood Beast Horror of Wolfbane Hall Mystery. Sample joke:
HOUSEKEEPER (handing flask to her employer, a werewolf): Your vial.
MY COUSIN’S PARTNER: Yes I know, I can’t help it.
There were glove puppets and innuendo. I had a Solero and sat directly behind (former That’s Life star) Doc Cox. My cup ranneth over, as, back home, everyone else did the work (thanks for stepping in, Phil and Rhys).
By the time I got back to my new home I was so confused about my whereabouts it was like I’d moved to another country. As I write, my room is still full of bin bags and boxes, like a puzzle that defies solution. But I like it. 19 Waterloo Road never felt right. Secretly, it was always waiting for its real owners to come back. In the meantime, it expressed its resentment by hitting me on the head repeatedly with its kitchen cupboard doors.
They didn’t bother to clean, or even hoover, in Copperfield Gardens prior to our arrival, so some filth greeted us (though obviously we’re no stranger to that). The boiler makes an eldritch keening noise, the meters in my room indulge in sudden fast flurries of ticking and irregular clonking sounds, and the neighbours speak to us. Still, so far, it feels OK. And the neighbours appear to be fine, really. Even GAZ99, as his number plate proclaims him, does not appear to be a drug dealer, or user. They’re probably worried that we are. But we have a big TV now, in our expanded lounge. That’s all the drug we need.
I was in Suffolk to see the Christmas show my cousin’s partner writes and stars in. This year, the show was entitled (overentitled, some might say) The Mystery of the Blood Beast Horror of Wolfbane Hall Mystery. Sample joke:
HOUSEKEEPER (handing flask to her employer, a werewolf): Your vial.
MY COUSIN’S PARTNER: Yes I know, I can’t help it.
There were glove puppets and innuendo. I had a Solero and sat directly behind (former That’s Life star) Doc Cox. My cup ranneth over, as, back home, everyone else did the work (thanks for stepping in, Phil and Rhys).
By the time I got back to my new home I was so confused about my whereabouts it was like I’d moved to another country. As I write, my room is still full of bin bags and boxes, like a puzzle that defies solution. But I like it. 19 Waterloo Road never felt right. Secretly, it was always waiting for its real owners to come back. In the meantime, it expressed its resentment by hitting me on the head repeatedly with its kitchen cupboard doors.
They didn’t bother to clean, or even hoover, in Copperfield Gardens prior to our arrival, so some filth greeted us (though obviously we’re no stranger to that). The boiler makes an eldritch keening noise, the meters in my room indulge in sudden fast flurries of ticking and irregular clonking sounds, and the neighbours speak to us. Still, so far, it feels OK. And the neighbours appear to be fine, really. Even GAZ99, as his number plate proclaims him, does not appear to be a drug dealer, or user. They’re probably worried that we are. But we have a big TV now, in our expanded lounge. That’s all the drug we need.
posted by martin at 6:21 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home