Wet-Dry World

Possibly as a result of the slight Biblical tones in the previous post, and most certainly an attempt to wipe away the hedonism and depravity of the previous evening's party in honour of the birthday of Adam Dance (almost definitely some kind of old world deity trapped in human form), a vertical deluge of brown water attacked the flat early the following morning.

Starting innocently with a few slow drips - much like the previous evening's party - it had soon become an experimental music installation consisting of approximately a dozen water-holding receptacles, from plastic champagne flutes to large two-handed saucepans, creating a rhythmic, subterranean sound wall of dripping water. Thankfully the brownness of the liquid was due to it seeping through the wood in the ceiling, not particles of decay leeching from the rotting body of our unknown neighbour in the flat above. Which was a relief I can tell you.












A photo of me taken early Tuesday morning, surveying the damage to the mezzanine (to be sent to our realty agent)



The apocryphal waters flowed for six days and six nights, during which I assumed the persona of a navvy on ye old man o' war, furiously slooshing out belowdecks in a desperate attempt to keep the sea at bay - well, emptying out pans and full cups in the sink - before Adam ingeniously used a plastic storage box as an impromptu water bucket and the whole thing became a lot more managable. And according to a telegram received just this morning, he is to be awared the Mario Mario Luigi Mario Green Pipe award for unrivaled ingenuity in the field of home plumbing, so along with his birthday he has had a great week.

















The additional cash prize for further research was also well-received


As is write this, the ordeal has been over for two days and the recovery process has started (i.e. I have picked up some of the plastic cups). Isn't it remarkable how life finds a way to survive?

Phoenix from the Flameface

REBIRTH

Guess whos back - back again? Simon's back - tell your friends. Guess who's back, guess who's back, guess who's back, guess who's back, guess who's back, guess who's back, guess who's back - and so forth.

Expect more cheap puns like the atrocity in the title of the post, because I now possess not only the capability but the intention of putting more drivel on this page until neither me nor you can stand to read any more. Why, even whilst typing this I wandered from room to room of my flat - cables harbour no power over me now - so long as I have remember to charge the laptop over night and remember to unplug it, thereby not having it yanked from my hands as the charger cable snaps taut and my baby lies shattered at my feet like so many others.

But enough, here is a quick recap of the year that has passed since I last put finger to keyboard -

- I am now a Box Office Manager at a cinema
- My brother Dave now lives in America with his lovely new wife(?), her two dastardly young kids(??) and the apparently quite large foetus that grows ever-larger inside her(???)
- Sam Bacon of previous mention has returned in a glorious fashion to the UK, living in Manchester with two other classic buddies not ten minutes from...
- My new city-centre flat that I reside in with my flame-haired lover Adam
- The dissolution of my long-term housemate nest stretching back to the university days, with prior housemates dissapating across the globe to (in order of exoticism) India, America, London, Liverpool and Salford

Finally, an apology for the hugh pause between this post and the last, I appear to have indirectly caused a Tory government and a global recession - now, time for payback.