Dead Kettle Blues

So that was a little treat this morning - I staggered into the kitchen after just waking up and, much to my horror, my kettle didn’t come on. I tried mixing and matching plug sockets etc. but, alas, it seem to have died. I’ve ordered some fuses, just in case that that’s all it needs. It was quite expensive, I do recall. Plus, I have a small lamp (that takes the same fuses) in a cupboard that’s never worked (the lamp, not the cupboard), so maybe I can finally get that working too. Anyway, I ended up managing to wake myself up with some [branded caffeinated sugar free cola drink]s and a leftover mushroom foo yung from last night’s takeaway. I may need to jump straight in the shower tomorrow, as that usually guarantees a wake-up.

Oh, there was a follow up to that man from the council knocking on my door on Friday regarding a leak in the flat below. That cockney, alpha male gobshite over the way actually had the nerve to come a-knocking too. Apparently he’s friends with the people downstairs and, rather than them coming up and speaking to me themselves, sent their abrasive, threatening, douchebag mate. I wasn’t impressed. He asked if he could come in and have a look at what’s causing the leak, as if he was an expert in building repairs. I said “No” and “The council have been and looked at it, and they’re going to return to fix it”, to which he then believed there was going to be more to our conversation, so I just shut the door in his face. Damn, it felt good. I knew he’d eventually turn up on my door for some reason. Why can’t people just mind their own business?! I had water coming through my bathroom ceiling once, and the council just said “Put a bucket down”. I would advise them to do the same.

After that incident, I started to feel even less safe in my own home so, this afternoon, I finally cut sheets of the sticky, frosted plastic I bought, like, ten years ago (to do the this exact thing) and covered up the kitchen windows*. I can now, officially, prance around my kitchen naked while waiting for the toast to pop. It’s a privilege you don’t realise you’ll miss until it’s gone. I’m one of the least practical people in the world, so cutting three rectangular pieces of plastic was a nightmare. I prefer more abstract art, without straight lines. I feel threatened by rulers.

Moving on.

That chap did eventually turn up in person to deliver the guitar distortion pedal I bought off him. I did ask if he’d like to pop in for a cup of tea, as one does but, rather unsurprisingly, he had stuff to do. Oh well. It’s a very nice piece of kit, and a welcome addition to my bulging distortion pedal collection.

My old gaming buddy keeps sending me messages and friend requests, even though I’ve decided to break contact. I feel very cruel, but I know nothing usually bothers him and, well, I wouldn’t have done such a thing if I wasn’t genuinely upset. If you’ve ever read the Discworld novels, then you’ll know what I mean when I say that I feel like his “dwarf bread”. I’m that food item in your satchel that you keep as the last of last resorts, because you know it’ll last forever and is pretty tough going. So you’ll wait until you’re snowed in on a mountainside, looking around the dimming campfire, wondering who’s going to eat who first. And, even then, you’ll still try a nibble of another friend’s arm before you think of resorting to me. Nah, I’m nobody’s dwarf bread.

I think my brief vegetarian phase has come to an end as, in the takeaway I mentioned above, there were a fair few meat products. Sadly, this Chinese doesn’t do any vegetarian starter combos, which is usually what I order. There’s a chicken Thai green curry reheating in the oven as I type.

No word yet from my regular pub on whether they’re going back to their old opening times. I did post a semi-anonymous comment on their Facebook site asking. I don’t “officially” have an FB account anymore, just a blank one in case I need to access a small company’s website (like for this situation). Which actually happens quite a lot.

I’ve been listening to a lot of Jimi Hendrix this weekend. I’ve been working on a playlist of his posthumously released songs for ages, which is about forty tracks long. He seemed to have such a sad life, and was a very shy, humble, thoughtful man. It’s a shame that nefarious rock journalists/historians try to paint him as a super-outgoing rock god. He wasn’t. It was all just a flamboyant stage act. If you read about his childhood, I swear you’ll never stop crying. Especially the thing about the broom. Go have a look.

I have been drunk over the last few days, but I think the hangover’s finally gone. My head will be a bit rough anyway from missing a week’s worth of antidepressants, so anything that feels like a lingering hangover probably isn’t.

Probably.

Oh, my old work colleague and “guitar Yoda” got in touch on Friday. We haven’t spoken since I shut my FB account down a couple of years ago. I think the last time we spoke I posted here that I thought he had been drunk at the time, and that he had subsequently forgot ever getting in touch. I think that’s just happened again**. Well, he was keen enough to dig out my email address, which I don’t think he’s used since we worked together fifteen years ago. Still, he’s a lovely guy (although a fucking pain in the arse to work with) and, very likely, the one chance I’ll ever have of being in a band. Maybe I’ll be his bassist. I do have a bass guitar. We shall see. I might ping him an email reminding him that we’re back in touch now. Sigh.

Right, I think my curry’s about ready to come out of the oven, so I best go prance around naked in my kitchen. Gosh, it really does feel good to say that!

Anyway, do stay in touch, darlings.

Toodles!

*the council won’t put up curtains/blinds in tenants’ kitchens as, apparently, it’s a fire hazard

**I’m sat editing this post and an email notification just popped up from him, so he didn’t forget. I’ll read it once I’m done here and update you next time