Last October, I was the last person to move out of our student house in Oxford. This meant that I somehow ended up with the brunt of the job- cleaning, lugging to charity shops, handing in keys etc. etc. It was exhausting and emotional, which may account for my absence of mind on the final evening when I managed to lock myself out.
Everything was spotless. My bags were packed by the front door and my car was loaded like freight train. I went to take the last of the bin bags out and… slam. The front door closed behind me. All keys and worldly possessions inside.
This morning, I moved out from my temporary room in Queen's Park. Having finished term on Friday and spent every hour since working and/or drinking, I'm a bit out of it. My body hates me, my voice sounds like a broken goat. I had a 13 hour shift at the gallery yesterday and got back very late. Set my alarm for 7 to make time to clean and get my stuff together.
Of course, I overslept. Still managed to wash, clean, eat, pack in a flurry of j-cloths, tights and weetabix. Everything was spotless. My bags were packed by the front door ready to load myself up like a pack-horse. I went to take the bin bags out and… slam. the front door closed behind me. All keys and worldly possessions inside.
In Oxford, I resolved the situation by going out to meet a friend for dinner, before climbing upon said friend's shoulders to break into a bathroom window with a little dutch courage. In Oxford, my neighbours were later found guilty of organising a sex-trafficking ring and the sight of some drunk girl throwing herself through a top floor window would not have raised any eyebrows. In Queen's Park, however, my neighbours have nannies, dog-walkers and high security systems for their million pound wine-cellars.
I am happy to report that this did not stop me from climbing over a fence and attempting to scale the side of the building… but the landlady will be happy to know that her house is not very easy to burgle. With palms full of mud and a cut wrist, I surrendered. Happy that I had at least made the choice to get dressed properly before taking the bins out, I went to work. Perhaps I will live at work until the landlady returns to London.
I have come so far in one year… and yet learned nothing.
Other stupid things I have done this week:
- Somehow lodged a piece of plastic in my finger. No time to deal with that shit. Decided to leave it there for a couple of days. Mistake.
- Coming in from the pub on Friday, I snuck in with the stealth of a cat-burglar (somewhat more stealthily than the aforementioned hurling myself through a bathroom door.) Ran to the loo. Flushed the chain. Something exploded. With water shooting in all directions, I decided to stand on the cistern and reach to turn the stopcock off. I think I broke the pipe. Landlady wakes up to find me soaked and swearing. Turns off the water in the road. Neighbours stir. Much commotion. No water for the next 24 hours.
- Vodka with red wine. Again- I have come so far since Oxford and learning nothing.
No comments:
Post a Comment