K. (infinitemonkeys) wrote,

  • Mood:
Four days until I go and live at S's for two weeks. Four days until they rip everything out of my house. No one wants my lovely sofas. The pixies have stopped taking things out of my garden and running away with them. I am knackered. I am about 2/3rds of the way through packing all my stuff, and at the point where the house looks like a bomb just hit it. I have way too much stuff but I can't bear to get rid of the books.

steelbaaars steelbaaars
It all started because a crack appeared in the back wall of my house during the summer of 2003. It widened and widened and I called in the insurers, who have consistently been helpful but offered no money. It looks like a subsidence crack, but it's actually thermal movement. I live in a terraced house, built at some point between 1895 and 1905. The road curves and at my house, the terrace next door is not aligned -- it misses by about 25cm. That's a stress point, where the expansion of the brick forces a crack into my house. Hence the steel bands. It's a fairly minimal and cheap solution. if it doesn't work, and I think there's a fair chance it won't and the crack will reappear come the next hot summer, then the only solution is to hide the crack behind built-in bookshelves.

Today I was waylaid at Liverpool Street Station by the boy who made my life a misery for a good four or five months when I was at university. He was charming and funny -- and mean as a polecat when you got on his bad side, which everyone who shared a house with him did at some point. Just a spiteful, spiteful self-righteous arsehole.

Anyway, I was going home from work at 10.30 tonight, lost in my ipod and thinking about bathroom tiles, I heard him shout. He was utterly pissed.

God, he's really, really short. I'd forgotten that he was about two inches shorter than me. And very bald. And fat. With a ridiculous ponce beard. Still pompous. And I work where he always wanted to work and have done for ten years. And he worked at a PR firm -- which he always used to pontificate was akin to working for Satan and/or prostituting yourself. Only he's just been laid off.

Ah, the glorious waft of schadenfreude...

I hope he gets a job soon because he's talented, and not a terrible person, but thank you, universe, for that tiny present on a bad week. I know, I know; I am a bad person. Don't bloody care.

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