widg‧et /ˈwɪdʒɪt/ [wij-it] -noun: Pointless ramblings from the New Forest. Obviously complete & utter Rubbish. Why must I contibute to all this endless talk about me? My self-indulgent knees, spilling themselves all over the internet. Obviously i am Jon and his hair, I AM HIM!

Wednesday, January 30, 2008

You Hold & I'll Pop

Whilst none of me was at pub on Thursday, all of me was at work; come Friday most of me was at pub, and the rest of me was neatly deposited into a small bag in Trinity Church Hall (and not in a dirty way).

Right, you know on Sesame Street, not the pinball one with the numbers, but where there's that gymnast on her hobbledy-horsey, and they keep on banging on about "between" until the word's lost all meaning. Well it's a bit like that i'ntit?

With one whole days warning, we were informed that Mr Proprietor would like to perform a teensy-tiny ickle survey on poor Stephen, for an unspecified amount of time, but presumed to be smallish, on Thursday morning. What eventually occurred bore little resemblance to what had been vaguely described on paper, and seemed to be more of an architectural autopsy.

The bell chimed several hours late and the door swung open to reveal a stream of people in numbers reminiscent of a Benny Hill sketch. I began to wonder if I had left a window open, so that they could climb out only to return through the front door over and over again, in an attempt to freak us out. They were strangely mute, and seemed barely able to acknowledge our existence as they gleefully tore through the floor in a desperate hunt for treasure.

None was found, so, once the considerable dust had settled and fixtures & fittings had been sticky-taped back into position, we set off on a house hunt. Our current lettings lackeys had nothing available within a twenty mile radius; evidently word has spread about how irredeemable SHITE they are. The thin lipped agents from the market place decided to play a game of 'arsehole in the middle' with the keys, and were thus most unhelpful. Our first successful viewing was arranged through a thoroughly decent piece or card in a shop window. It was a three horse race, between us, a couple of Poles & the eventual surprise winners, some friends of the landlord. We consoled ourselves with the fact that the considerable distance from town, taking literally an unsubstantiated fraction of an hour, was sufficiently unwieldy; and ran straight into the arms of a floor-obsessed paranoid.

Currently listening: Little Death by Pete & the Pirates


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