the replacements
A replacement for Mat has not yet been found. How could you possibly replace Mat? A dummy stuffed with straw might do, except it has to be able to pay the rent. A dummy stuffed with fifty pound notes then?
Failing that, we’ve had Dave’s workmate with the foreign name. Well naturally that was doomed from the start due to my appalling racism. But before I even had a chance to run it past the boys at Combat 18, Dave decided the guy was annoying. ‘Whenever I look up, his face is there’, Dave said, indicating the space just next to him. Annoying enough at work, let alone when you’ve just woken up in the morning.
The next guy to apply came through Facebook, a ‘social networking site’ that is so very much the latest thing that it’s almost certainly already over, especially now I’m on it. I dismissed it as a waste of time until I got addicted to discovering who, on the ‘London network’, shares my obscure tastes in music, films, and books. A bunch of freaks with names like ‘Paul Guided Missile’ and ‘Martin Plumbridge’, that’s who. I wouldn’t want to meet them, but it’s nice to know that they’re there. And not here.
Except that one of them was, the other night. This potential housemate attached no less than six different photos to his declaration of interest in the room: one for each personality, I suspected. When he turned up in the flesh however, he seemed very clean-cut, very ‘normal’. I am aware that this is how most serial killers are described, but the thing with serial killers is, they only kill strangers. And we could do with some more unusual ornaments around the place: ‘trophies’, I think they like to call them.
In fact both Dave and I thought he was genuinely pleasant and straightforward, and therefore would never move in with us in a million years. So we were surprised when he enquired about how much the deposit would be. Perhaps he is insane after all.
Failing that, we’ve had Dave’s workmate with the foreign name. Well naturally that was doomed from the start due to my appalling racism. But before I even had a chance to run it past the boys at Combat 18, Dave decided the guy was annoying. ‘Whenever I look up, his face is there’, Dave said, indicating the space just next to him. Annoying enough at work, let alone when you’ve just woken up in the morning.
The next guy to apply came through Facebook, a ‘social networking site’ that is so very much the latest thing that it’s almost certainly already over, especially now I’m on it. I dismissed it as a waste of time until I got addicted to discovering who, on the ‘London network’, shares my obscure tastes in music, films, and books. A bunch of freaks with names like ‘Paul Guided Missile’ and ‘Martin Plumbridge’, that’s who. I wouldn’t want to meet them, but it’s nice to know that they’re there. And not here.
Except that one of them was, the other night. This potential housemate attached no less than six different photos to his declaration of interest in the room: one for each personality, I suspected. When he turned up in the flesh however, he seemed very clean-cut, very ‘normal’. I am aware that this is how most serial killers are described, but the thing with serial killers is, they only kill strangers. And we could do with some more unusual ornaments around the place: ‘trophies’, I think they like to call them.
In fact both Dave and I thought he was genuinely pleasant and straightforward, and therefore would never move in with us in a million years. So we were surprised when he enquired about how much the deposit would be. Perhaps he is insane after all.
posted by martin at 1:26 PM
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