As my wife and teapot lids prepared to leave for a 10 day stay back in the Old Country...Michelle ( cooking, cleaning, washing lady as we call her ) read out a list, which she had prepared, along with Post it notes labelling the white kitchen boxes, the animals' cages and their dietary requirements etc.
"Fill the mouse" she began ( I'm thinking, what the hell with ? ) " Phil ( named after a character in a TV programme for the hard of understanding ) "awight? " has a fist-full of crunklies and gets watered daily...the fish, the cats etc all sporting their Post it's had all been catalogued, and I have been given a strict Rosta, measuring cups etc. with the explicit instruction NOT to let anything die.
The dining room table has several neat piles of papers and instructions, pre-written cheques, stamped envelopes, etc. bless her. She also left me with full set of undergarments ( with post it's ) a stocked fridge, list of contact numbers....stop fussing Dear, I used to fend for my self in Lunnon, for crumpet's sakes...
So, I dropped them off at the Ryan-cattle-truck-in-the-sky-port, returned to Base, leaving the car lights on....like you do.
Well, it's been steadily downhill ever since, but luckily we have Basefook to exchange messages such as "I've run out of milk... I've run out of toilet tissue" etc. anyroad I set my self up at the Mac...setting up a game of Russian Roulette, surrounding myself with 8 cans of flat Coke, one secreting the fag butt, and continued my research for my book on "Pawn in the Front-line"....and so to bed.
I awoke with a flat battery..don't panic I thought, you can sort this, so I dooshed and then had a Cataclysmic wardrobe malfunction. I was buck nekkid apart from sporting a sizeable pair of designer open toe-ed beach foot-ware, Philipe Follope's own label...got into 'Flamingo position' ready to thrust leg into aperture left. I missed, and subsequently crashed into my Mac and row of and Coke/ashtray/cans, dousing my system, speakers and keyboard and sending a Mug crashing onto the floor which bounced and shed it's cold coffee content into the blow heater. It does still work although it crackles, pops and steams, giving off a not unpleasant Arabica Aroma.
I busied myself mopping, gluing and hanging up my Rosta sheets to dry, when I smelled the stench of burning flesh... Don't burn the kitchen down! love. Well that was the home made chicken soup down the swanny...
I have had a lot of help from my FB chums " Eat Cake, lol" etc. and I am slowly getting it together...I have the first layer of filth removed ...2 baguettes...a cartoosh of fags. I have the coffee stained best white shirt is in soak, and the white box that does the dishes is whiring. I have counted the animals...no deaths to date. What else can go wrong?
I shall report in from time to time with updates, in the meantime, if anyone has any handy hints on 'staying alive' please let me know...what's that smell?