Wardrobe Washing and Tepid Sausages Part 1

Friday and panic is setting in. I was frantically cleaning the estate as housemate was returning from 2 weeks in Greece. I'm really not a lazy sod but 2 weeks of dog sick and withering houseplants have taken their toll and generic dusting and laundry have taken a back seat

Half way up the hall, the Dyson finds a USB lead and decides to commit hoover hari-kari. It screams loudly before wheezing to a stand-still with 1 careful owner stood there in a blue sarong looking flushed. I dunno what it is with household appliances. They must hate me. It's only been 2 weeks since I wrote off the VAX carpet cleaner. Got a bit too close to the stairs and it plunged to it's death down 2 flights to the basement. It was a bit like a car stunt on Emmerdale only more realistic.

I only have 3 hours left and nothing but a drawer full of Sainsbury's anti-bacterial wipes to whip this place into shape before I set off on my clubbing weekend. I used up 3 packs but the carpets and tiles came up a treat. The whole house smelled like Lemon Toilet Duck. Better than dog sick and peanuts I guess.

Packed my trolley case, ordered the cab and headed off to the South Coast again to meet up with my mates. This time we're celebrating because we've all managed to secure jobs after the re-org/re-structure. Could have been very different but after months of uncertainty it's all come good so I'm expecting to look like Michael Foot after running the London Marathon by Sunday.

The hotel was something I wasn't expecting. It's in a lovely grand Georgian Square in Brighton but as the cab turned the corner I spotted a frenzy of scaffolding and just knew that it was crawling over our hotel.

I stood ringing the doorbell on a damp maroon carpet with my heart sinking into my scrotum. As I peered through the greying glass I could see the interior decor was like a 1970's funeral parlour, only less tasteful.

Eventually a skinny bloke in a 100% polyester suit from Mr Byrite poked his head round from next door. 'Did you not read the notice'? he sighed, pointing at a card the size of a fag packet stuck to the inside door at knee height. Plese knock next door it said. Yes it said Plese. That's not my typo! I decided it best not to comment and asked him to check me in.

I hauled my case up to reception. Well I say reception but it was really just an airing cupboard with a laptop. It was at this point I noticed the cracks in the walls and part of the ceiling bearing down on us like an Airtex ice flow. I imagined Charlton Heston leaping through the bay window to rescue me during the next after-shock. Skinny bloke was actually quite friendly and helpful and gave me a cheery smile as I headed up the stairs to my room to wait for my mates to arrive.
Up and up I went as the stairs got smaller and leaned further and further over to the left. The banister wasn't looking right solid either so I'm now worried about leaning over too far and landing up with a broken neck on the maroon marshland below.

I made it to my room. Key in door. Flick to the right and threw open the door to be confronted by a toilet on a 32 degree slope! I stood for a bit staring at this toilet and wash bowl and after what seemed like an age I realised there was another door on the other side of the toilet. I stepped uneasily across the sloping floor and opened the other door to reveal the place I would be staying for the weekend.

To say it was small and cramped would be like saying Wayne Rooney is a dumpy, hirsute, chav with a liking for shagging old birds. The photo here doesn't really do it justice but I think you'll get a feel for my disappointment. The tiny built-in wardrobe had been cut in half and the right hand section converted into a shower. I haven't seen such a small shower since that time when I was persuaded to try a caravan holiday on the Isle of Wight during Scout week. Every morning we were knocked up early and often by relentless, spotty youths asking if we wanted anything done for a pound. A bob was a fecking shilling in my day but I guess that's inflation for you.




I finally managed to lift my case, sideways, into the room but take out an IKEA bedside lamp on the way with the retractable handle and collapse onto my narrow bed. My mobile starts ringing and as I swing round to answer it my knees hit the dressing table and my leg is gouged by a lethal looking drawer handle and the kettle falls off the shelf and soaks my shoes. I glance up at the telly. I now know why they've got flat screen TVs............you couldn't fit a bloody normal television in here!

To be continued........................................

Wish I Was There Part Deux

So I trek back home as I'm being summoned to work for another interview.

The dog's developed a nasty cough/retch combo in my absence so my first day back and I'm off to line the vets pockets again. £78 for some pills and a bottle of ear cleaner. If any parents are reading this crap, my advice would be to encourage your children to become vets. It's like a license to print money and no one ever complains because their little precious babies are worth every penny. It's simply not the done thing to whinge about being robbed blind by the bloke in the green coat with bad hair who just stuck a thermometer up Fifi's arse.

Got myself in a right 2 n 8 over my pending interview. Woke up with hives and the scalp scabs were itching something rotten. As the morning wore on I couldn't settle and just walked around the house picking up stuff for no reason and putting it down again.

As this was a final interview and I'm supposed to be on holiday they decided to do it by phone rather than make me travel up North again. By the time the phone rang my t-shirt was wringing wet and I was having trouble walking. My bum hole was red raw and felt like a blob of mince and drawing pins. Not even supersoft Andrex Quilts could prevent it's demise.

Actually the interview went really well until the dog had a cough/retching fit and I made a dash for the door so they didn't hear her. I tripped over a toothbrush charger and fell into the huge banana plant that I'm babysitting for my mate while she's on holiday. It was snapped in 2 but I got the job so it's not all bad news. I've got a few days left to think up a good story about the death of her beloved plant. I've got rid of the evidence. It's currently in small bits in our wheelie bin and should be land-fill by the weekend.

Without an ounce of remorse I was back off to the coast to continue my holiday. The rain started almost immediately.

Had a great night out with mates for a birthday celebration. We had a magnificent Thai feast served up by what looked like the cast of a fat ladyboy cabaret. Staggered back home and fell asleep on the sofa squinting at Charlotte Church with one eye on SKY+

Next day went shopping in Brighton with my mate. We got drenched darting between GAP and Mambo. Spent the rest of the afternoon damp and in charity shops as mate was searching for Scally footwear. He tells everyone he buys these used shoes to re-sell on Ebay. We all believed him until his Mum's loft collapsed and she was buried for 3 days under a pile of Dr Martin's!

Wish I Was There Part 1

Holidays are supposed to make you feel relaxed aren't they?

I've just had over 2 weeks off work and look like some disheveled hobo with TB. The stress rash I developed on my scalp has started bleeding so I now have red dandruff.

Things didn't start well. 2 days before my holiday we were all told that our department was being restructured. That's business speak for cutting back on staff but not the volume of work! The bottom line was 'If you don't have a job in the new department by the following week......you're out' My 'interview' had been booked for the following Tuesday. In Bradford!

OK I should have made a decision then to postpone my holiday but I'd already agreed to house sit for friends so my hands were tied. So started the weirdest vacation ever.

I hung around at home over the weekend. No point traveling South for a couple of days to come home and then venture to the North for the interview. Hanging around just made me more anxious, so by the time I got to Bradford my breathing sounded like a camel having an orgasm.

I covered myself in Garnier Shine Control moisturiser and Sure Extreme Protection but still sweated up like a Turkish wrestler.

The interviews were behind schedule and in the end I landed up with the after lunch slot with a woman from Human Resources wearing low slung pants and a short cardigan. Neither came close to covering her ample and blotchy stomach. I was transfixed on the messy belly button that looked like it had gone sceptic after a botched piercing. She was having problems keeping her eyes open. Was I boring her to death or had she had a couple of pints and steak pie and chips down the pub for lunch. This slug was deciding my future career!

30 minutes later it was all over and I was despatched back to London to continue my anxious wait/holiday. A quick change of suitcase and I was off to the seaside.

Arrived in Brighton and headed off to the chemist to get my prescription. As luck would have it the local chemist closes early on a Wednesday so now I can feel a panic attack coming on.

17.15 I have no idea where the next chemist is. I start walking East. Not sure why but it seemed to make sense at the time.

17.26 I find another chemist in the nick of time. A small, surly Scandinavian woman is getting ready to shut up shop as I bluster through the door, knocking over a display of cheap reading glasses. The troll gives me daggers as the pharmacist takes pity on me and agrees to make up my prescription. I buy a purple nail clipper set out of gratitude.

17.36 I wave goodbye to the pharmacist and her grumpy troll and head back.

17.37 A monsoon hits Brighton and t shirt/shorts and flip flops suddenly seem inappropriate. 3 blocks later and I'm drenched. I've stuffed my drugs down my shorts to keep them dry but I'm soaked through to my Calvins.

17.48 I eventually make it home and collapse with my drugs and a bottle of Jacobs Creek.

Things can only get better.......................right?