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Slow and the Spurious

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The Slow and the Spurious…

Ok. It’s been a week and a half since last update. What’s been happening? Mmm, oh yeah, my world got turned upside down!!! There are good reasons for the lack of update, but I’ll try and keep it amusing as much as possible.

The Curse of the Moose returns….

Firstly, the boiler. Yes, the bloody boiler. It works fine now. Like a dream. To start with, when we hadn’t had heating, we whacked it up real high to warm the house through. Since then, it’s been gradually lowered to a reasonable temperature. However, despite this, the water in the shower is cripplingly, skin-blisteringly hot on any setting you choose. I’ve honestly tried it on anywhere on the scale and it seems to be the same bloody temperature! I boiled gently even when the dial is pointing at the blue below “1”. On the bright side, it’s a great way to lose weight, just shed the skin like a snake. Boil off the pounds! I swear it’s getting embarrassing, but I’m going to have to ring Cletus the wonder plumber now just to ask him if there’s any way to make the temperature in the shower actually match the scale on the dial.

Secondly. The Bed. Remember the bed? The continually broken bloody thing? It went again last week. This time on Mrs Moosehunter’s side and, just like me last time, she wasn’t doing impressions of elephants on pogo sticks. She just sat on the edge of the bed and “Crack”! This means that within a year and three quarters at our house, we have bought a divan bed and destroyed it, bought a nice pine one and destroyed it, replaced that with the same thing and destroyed it, returned that to the store and bought a new one. Now taking bets as to the life expectancy of this one… Any takers?

Bastards!

Today’s the day the Shiny one leaves our company and with him goes Frenchy. With the Hobbit already gone, that takes our room down from 6 people to 3. And I use the word ‘people’ in its widest possible sense. It will, in fact, leave myself and Chicken Boy and the ‘Man from Del Boredom’. Or should that be the ‘Man from Dull Monte’? As we’ve neared the day of reckoning where the boredom quotient of the room is going to treble, Chicken Boy and myself have gradually slipped down the scale of random oddness. I kid you not, it’s kind of frightening how strange our conversations now get, on a scale previously unprecedented. Regularly throughout the day I look up across the desk and find him gurning at me, his face twisted and contorted like a terminally constipated orang-utan. If I don’t get out of here soon, they’re going to end up dragging me out of this building by the neck, trying to wrestle the shotgun out of my hands while I giggle like a schoolgirl and my eyes do cartwheels.

Refrigerators are also a sore point in the world of Moose at the moment. The fridge at Chez Moose has been there since it was built (around 12-14 years) and has seen better days. In fact, it looks like a reject from film set for a documentary on the Bosnian conflict. The bottom piece at the front fell off a long time ago and left a sort of dark, gloopy crevice that appears to be growing mushrooms. As a serious arachnophobe I try to pay as little attention to this area as possible. I’ve tried to clean it with both a broom and a mop and have succeeded in making no difference to the fridge, but making both broom and mop look like they’ve been used to stir a cess pit. Then, a few months ago, the door stopped shutting properly. I had to kind of lift it and push the bottom corner inwards with my foot. Then it would generally stay shut. Recently, it’s got worse until we got to the point where, no matter how much we kicked the shit out of the door, it won’t stay closed. And so, on Sunday, I picked up the replacement fridge at my parents’ house. I struggled down the long drive with the damn thing and, just before reaching the gate and with absence of thought, picked the damn thing by the plastic door handle and… Crack! Bastard. Now I’ve already destroyed the handle on the new fridge. Arsing arsebag! Still, the thing’s sat in our kitchen at the moment, settling and cooling down before we swap it for the heap of shit. Not looking forward to that as there will be eight-legged menaces the size of Bournemouth hanging around in the dark behind the old fridge.

More sometime soon, depending on anger and panic.

Moosehunter

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Written by SJAT

August 20, 2009 at 3:20 pm

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