Gassy Elephants

My (relatively) new upstairs neighbours have got to be the most heavy footed people I have ever encountered. I think they are in fact elephants in disguise, by day they wear cleverly adapted human suits but come 10/11 pm (it is always around this time) they remove said suits and thunder about. Or they are serial killers luring poor unsuspecting people into their home and performing a nightly ritual, because a lot of the time it does sound like a body hitting the floor from a great height…not that I know what that sounds like really. But what can they be doing? Moving furniture, are they feng shui obsessives? Are they dancing? Because it cannot just be them walking about, it is crazy thuds constantly. I have met the woman once, and she’s a tiny wee person. so what gives?

For the past two weeks or so British Gas have been calling me regularly, sometimes two or three times a day. They don’t leave a message (I Googled the number so knew who it was) and since I had no real need to talk to them I have ignored them. I finally caved today and so we had this amusing conversation:

Very enthusiastic British Gas person: Hello Ms My-Last-Name! How are you today? I hope you are very well!
Me: I’m fine thanks.
BG: Good good. Have you got time to talk to me today?
Me: Not really no, I am at work.
BG: Not to worry I will call back another time.
Me: (Oh god no please don’t) Can you tell me what it’s about?
BG: Why yes I can! I was just hoping to let you know the ways in which you could save money by transferring to British Gas from your current provider.
Me: British Gas is my current provider.
BG: (Stunned silence for a few seconds) Oh…are you sure?
Me: Yes.
BG: Have you just switched over?
Me: No.
BG; Oh…how long have you been with us?
Me: Three years.
BG: Oh…right then. (Uncomfortable laugh) I will update your records. Have a lovely day!

Honestly.

Face Off, Part Two

I saw him again, oh yes.

The time: 12.30 am. The place: My hallway. The winner: Undecided.

I did not sleep well. I had pushed a towel against the bottom of my door (I’m sure only for my own psychological benefit and not for any real use) and I stared at the ceiling for a long time.

Eventually I had to pee, of course I did, my bladder is hateful. So I carefully opened my door. I had left the hall light on, cos mice don’t like light do they? But my flatmate had turned it off. I hit the switch, and there he was (twas a he, I have decided), bold as bloody brass, in the middle of the hall. Right you bugger, I am not having this. This is MY house! He pegged it down to the bathroom as I walked, so I wedged the front door open with my laundry basket, shoved more towels under the doors to block his way, and made for the kitchen. I shuffled past him and grabbed the broom, and stood with my body half in the kitchen and half in the hall. And then I stared at him for ten minutes.

I know it is ridiculous to be so wound up over such a tiny thing, and it is much more scared of me than I am of it, and all that, but still. I probably could have smushed him with the broom to be honest. He was so scared and totally still. I did feel sorry for him. A bit. But it’s one thing to set traps (which I don’t really like doing), its another to smash his head in with a broom. I have a line, you know? Plus, the clean up would be a bitch.

I plucked up the courage to actually move and he ran off in the direction of the front door. Success!! …And ran behind the door. Bollocks. Move the other way you dumbass! So I poked him a bit and he stopped in the door hinge. There could have been an ugly death right there, but I caught the door. Again, mouse guts all up the wall? I don’t want to deal with that. He ran back and hid behind the laundry basket. Motherf*cker! Just go away!

And then Houdini disappeared. Poof. Gone. I don’t know whether he legged it down the stairs while I was looking behind the basket, or if he’s found a way into it and is right now curled up happily in my dirty washing, but he was gone. And I was knackered, and so I went back to bed. Leaving the basket in the hallway, just in case.

I called the estate agents yesterday morning, who were very nice about it, and said they would send someone round, but if we thought it was just a one off could we try traps first? And while I’d rather they send round the bomb squad and fettle every inch of the flat, it is possible it got in through the front door (the chap upstairs works on his bike out front and leaves the door open) and hasn’t actually taken up residence with his mice pals. So I will get traps and we will see.

Thank god there’s cake.

Face Off, Part One

I have had better evenings.

I got home last night with every intention to run, but it was raining, oh no! So I took my shopping into the kitchen and hunted for food, went back to my bedroom for something, and when I came out I saw something small and black run across the hall.

I stopped, by heart beating fast, hands to my face. Oh god, what do I want it to be? Do I want it to be a mouse? A cockroach? An as yet undiscovered something that can walk through walls and has disappeared?

I edged down the hall like I was in a horror movie, slow, tiny steps. And there it was, the tiniest mouse you have ever seen, sitting in the bathroom doorway.

Bollocks.

What do I do what do I do? Well, I ask the internet of course, which gave me helpful answers, varying from ‘get a cat’ to the types of poison and traps that were most effective. All great suggestions, thank you Internet Land, but it didn’t solve my immediate problem of having a mouse IN MY HALLWAY! I called my brother (which shows my desperation cos he’s not the best in a crisis) who told me to try and force it outside, ‘But don’t let it jump on your face cos it might bite you and have rabies.’ Thanks bro, I totally would have let it jump on my face if you hadn’t said that, but now I’m good.

By the time I had opened the front door and got the broom from the kitchen, the little shit had disappeared. Double bollocks. I can’t sleep knowing it’s out there. What if I wake up with it on my FACE!?

I went out to buy some traps but alas, all the shops were shut by this time, and my trusty corner shop didn’t know what I was talking about. ‘Mouse trap? What is that?’ OK, moving on. I went home and de-crumbed the place, disinfected the kitchen and emptied all the bins. I still felt all icky though.

I went to bed and didn’t sleep, but we weren’t done, me and the mouse, oh no.

Bookcases and Nutcases

I have a new love, ladies and gentlemen…but we’ll get to that in a minute.

My weekend was pretty great, if a little full. I was already exhausted by Saturday night. Not that I’d done anything too strenuous, but I hadn’t had my Saturday morning lie in. And I need my lie in people. But getting up was worth it. Saturday was the fourth annual London bookswap. Lots of friends (internet and real life) get together to swap their unwanted books (people come all the way from Scotland!). And we have lunch and eat cakes. It’s lovely. There were lots of us this time and so squeezing around a table heaving with books wasn’t easy. There are rules so people don’t just stand by the best spot the whole time. Everyone gets a fair shot. I came away with six, which is a bit of a record for me, as usually I leave with way more than I brought. I went home feeling sleepy but also buzzing from an overdose of sugar.

On Sunday I got to spend time with a beautiful baby girl. She’s brand new (well, a week) and gorgeous and tiny and I got to have cuddles, which fills my baby fix quota for a while.

OK, now we come to the love. Don’t judge me when I tell you it’s an inanimate object. It’s a bookcase. Yes, I know it’s pretty crazy to be so happy over a bookcase. But you don’t get it, these are my books! And they were sitting on the floor! And shoved in a corner. That’s just not right. They need to be looked after. And so now, instead of looking like this:

My shelves are ordered loveliness:

And instead of my drawers heaving under all their crap:

They are tidy and crap-free:

All I need to do now is put my new lampshade up, and I’m done. My room looks very nice and organised, and it’s stopped making me feel twitchy. I can stand mess to a point, and then it’s got to go!

Less Angsty

So my Monday morning was a bit trying, but hope is on the horizon. Plumber is probably at the flat as I write this, fixing stupid boiler. I spoke to our new estate agent again, and he was pretty helpful. More helpful than our last landlord who was never around, so maybe this is a good thing, at least these have an office. The people in the flat downstairs didn’t get their letter either. But we are ok to stay as we are, we are not being kicked out or anything, huzzah! I’ve stopped my old standing order and set up a new one, and I’m just waiting to see if there are any problems with the boiler. I hope not, because I need a shower and do not look forward to the possibility of a freezing cold one in a freezing cold flat. I’m sure it’s an easily fixed problem…

Bloody Monday

As I was making my breakfast this morning Jayne came into the kitchen and said we had no hot water or heat. Brilliant. I had a look at the boiler and did what they’d done last time it did this but nothing happened, so I said I’d ring the landlord when I got to work. No shower for me this morning. I’m ok. I’ll pass.

Just called the landlord and, miracles, he answered the phone. I told him the problem and he said ‘I’m sorry to hear that, but I’m not your landlord any more.’ WHAT? Oh no, they completed sale of the property on 20th December. Nice to be informed of that, huh? Phillips Estates are our contact now, and they should have been in touch. I kind of also think it would have been nice if he had told us himself, but I am not overly surprised, they didn’t tell us they were selling the place to begin with.

Called Phillips, told them about boiler, someone will see to it. And also about this. ‘Oh. You should have had a letter.’ ‘We haven’t had a letter.’ ‘Oh’ Come on people! You run a f-ing business! Make sure you have been in touch with who you need to be! At this moment, my rent is still scheduled to come out and go to my old landlord. Obviously I need to stop that and find out who should be getting my money. Also, they have our deposits now. This is something that should be discussed. What about contracts? Who is our landlord? Are we going to be able to stay? It’s called communication!

Jesus. You’d think I’d be used to this by now, but my mind is still boggled.

What the Dickens?

For my next book club in December I have to read A Christmas Carol. On the one hand I am quite happy to be reading a classic, and it’s nice to have a Christmas theme at this time of year, but on the other hand, it is Dickens, and I although I don’t think I’ve read any of his, I have read excerpts and didn’t find his language all that easy to get on with. The closest I’ve got to Dickens really is playing the Narrator in my junior school version of Oliver Twist (I rocked by the way). Plus, I am reading two other books at the moment that I’d like to finish before going on to that. I haven’t even bought it yet and have no idea how long it will take me to read.

So, do we think I could get away with just watching The Muppet Christmas Carol or Scrooged instead? No…?

I am going Ice Skating at the 02 arena on Sunday. This has lots of opportunity for disaster, as I am barely able to function on two feet, nevermind skates. But I love ice skating and haven’t been in ages, so even if I spend the whole time clutching the side and having legs as wonky as Bambi, I will have a grand old time. Unless I break my leg or something…I remember the first time I went skating, my mum said if I fell I had to make sure to keep my hand closed in case someone skated over it and chopped my fingers off. Talk about putting the fear of God into you. Thanks Mum. I wonder just how many finger amputations there have been in ice rinks across the globe?

At the moment I have Leona Lewis’s Bleeding Love song in my head. Driving me quite mad, mainly because I just don’t quite get what she’s trying to say. It’s quite upbeat music-wise, and yet she’s talking about being cut open and bleeding. So, does she mean she’s fallen in love, has had her heart broken and is now ‘bleeding love’, “You cut me open and I keep bleeding’? Or, was she cut off from love before, “My heart’s crippled by the vein that I keep on closing”, has now found love and is so overcome that love is just pouring out of her, and this is a good thing? I just don’t know, and it doesn’t really matter at all, but when it’s going round and round in your head you start to wonder these things.

Somebody is coming to look at the flat today for the first time in months, wonder if anyone will ever put an offer in. Perhaps the asking price is too high?

It’s Friday. Woot! Tonight I am going to see Once at the cinema and it’s supposed to be really good. Tomorrow I am sleeping lots, double woot! And I must do my ironing (oh joy). And then skating on Sunday, so it’s shaping up to be a very nice weekend.

A (slightly more positive) flat update

Tired of stewing about what was going on with our flat and unable to live with the unknown, I emailed Shelter and asked them what our rights are when it comes to the end of our tenancy and the flat being sold. Turns out, we actually have some! (Cut to everyone else in the known universe shaking their head that I did not know this stuff.)

So, this is what I have learned about the wonderful world of renting:

• When our one-year fixed term runs out in November this does not mean that our tenancy ends. It continues as a periodic tenancy until either we or our landlord ends it. This mean it rolls on, on a month-by-month basis and we have the same rights, terms and conditions as before. It happens automatically and doesn’t require us or the landlord to do anything about it. If, after our fixed term contract ends, the landlord decides he wants us to leave, he must still follow the correct legal procedure. This would include giving us written notice, usually two months if we have done nothing wrong, and then getting a court order.

• With the property being sold (when/if it ever actually bloody happens) the new owners will become our landlord(s). This happens automatically and whoever buys the property cannot simply choose whether to let us stay or not. The tenancy will be legally binding on the new owners and will continue with the same terms and conditions as with our current landlord. If the new owners/landlords wanted us to leave they could only evict us by following the same procedure as our current landlord.

This is all most reassuring. I had got it into my head that, once our contract was up, they could do whatever the hell they wanted to us. Maybe I’m an idiot (probably even). But a slightly calmer idiot now.

Is the weekend over?

On Saturday I didn’t do very much, not even my ironing which was a mistake seeing as I had nothing to wear this morning and the pile of wrinkly clothes sat and mocked me. I put that down do being woken up at an ungodly hour (well, 9am, but it was a Saturday!!!) by my Argos delivery. The ladder had arrived so I could finally put an end to the hideous smoke alarm beep that had been going on for at least two weeks. However, I think it has become a phantom sound (like the sound of my ex budgie cheeping that I could hear for years after he died. Though that was more likely the guilt of not feeding him properly…), because I swear I can still hear it.

Anyway, I changed some lightbulbs and tried to get our fab new telly to work, only we didn’t have enough plug sockets. This became a trial indeed because when we got an adapter and a freeview box hooked up, we still couldn’t get a bloody decent picture (damn flat) unless I stood with my arm up in the air like a loon. Finally, bright spark that I am, I set up the new ladder next to it and placed the aerial on that. A good enough picture but we look like right chavs now. It has to be a temporary solution, though no idea how to fix it. Though this may all be pointless anyway if we end up moving.

We have been internetless all weekend which is seriously annoying and meant I had to wait until last night to watch the new episode of Grey’s Anatomy. It’s ok, not as good as it used to be and I’m seriously tired of Meredith and her on-off McDreamy relationship. Just get your act together girl! Plus I want Callie to just go away now. They’ve ruined that character too.

I’m trying to make myself go and buy the new Buffy comic in my lunch hour but it involves walking a bit of a way and I just don’t know if I can be arsed. God I’m so lazy…

Life and Parkin

Is everyone fed up of my flat rambles yet?

Ruby got a call last night from an estate agent saying they would like to come round and do a viewing. This is not the estate agent I have been dealing with, I guess the landlord wants them out of the loop when it comes to the selling competition. It’s a landlady looking to buy all three flats in our building and allegedly it is likely she will buy. I am crossing all my fingers and toes that she does buy, that we get to stay, that she is lovely, that she doesn’t hike up the rent and that we can be left to live in peace. I’m tired of stressing about this.

On Monday night I went round to Max’s to wish him happy birthday and he was watching Hostel 2. This is not a film I had any interest in seeing myself as it’s the kind of horror that goes places I don’t really want my mind to go. I watched about 20 minutes, some of it with my eyes shut and my fingers in my ears, and then he turned it off and said he would watch it later. Last night I had horrible Hostel-esque dreams with stabbings and weirdness and also, an Elizabeth Bathory type woman, which does make sense if you’ve seen the film. I think.

Before the horridness of dreams I rescued a snail from our recycling bin (how crazy am I if I spoke to it while setting it on the windowsill?) and made Parkin for work as we are having a good bye tea for Fiona on Thursday. She’s going on maternity leave so obviously needs feeing up with Parkin, scones and Victoria Sandwich cake before she goes. I rarely make Parkin, and even then only at certain times of the year. If I don’t I feel like my grandmother will somehow know and be very upset about it. It’s her recipe you see and she only ever made it at certain times of the year (it reminds me of Bonfire Night, but I guess I’m close enough). I guess it makes it more special that way too. It’s the first time I’ve made it with proper black treacle, so I’m a bit scared it might have too much kick to it. We’ll see. I love Parkin.

I am having a healthy snack of apple slices. Oooh, so unlike me.