Kiss me in the rain

There's nothing lovelier than being woken by the person who you're mad about, giving you a gentle kiss and a cuddle. At 6.15 on Saturday morning I was woken by my dearest Trump (not trumps), she was saying something to me, but I was listening to the sound of torrential rain.

"Sniff, are you awake?"
"No"
"Did you put the shower on?"
"Eh? No!"

She got out of bed and wandered into the hallway of her parents' house, where we'd been staying for a couple of weeks while they were on holiday. An exclamation of despair and horror preceded her re-emergence in the bedroom.

"Tina, I need you to wake up and put your glasses on NOW!"

Wondering whether they'd give me superhero powers, I put my glasses on and staggered bed-footed, into the hallway...

It was very steamy out there; moisture had condensed on all the walls, it was dripping from the ceilings, pictures and mirrors in the hallway were steamed up. It was a right fucking mess.

We ran it over in our heads: Trump had come to bed at 2.30am after playing Grand Theft Auto; she was delightfully tipsy after a few glasses of wine; we both fell asleep around 3am; the shower was not on at this point.

"Have you ever sleepwalked?", she enquired
"No, never"
"And you're sure the shower wasn't on when I got to bed?"
"Positive"
"But you didn't hear me get up?"
"No, nothing"
"What time did I come to bed, 2.30am? The shower could've been on for about 3 hours! The boiler could be fucked. Imagine the fucking gas bill!"

Worried, amongst other things, that the wallpaper might start to fall off, we opened windows, doors. We started patting down the sodden walls. Our heads and the steam cleared, we explored worst-case scenarios:

• All the wallpaper comes off walls and ceilings
• All the wallpaper comes off walls but not ceilings or vice versa
• 1 or 2 plus the boiler is fucked

Action = claim on house insurance

• The Trump parents find out that Trump was a little tipsy

Action = claim on house insurance and cash in Trump's pension

• The walls and/or ceilings become stained

Action = find matching colour and spend the weekend repainting

• Everything goes back to normal

Action = thank fuck and swear never to do anything like that again

• The gas bill arrives

Action = claim it was unseasonably cold one night during the warmest October on record

It was an odd situation and, looking back, it was something reminiscent of the opening scene of a horror film. Young, attractive couple are woken by the sound of the shower running during the night. One gets up to investigate and is moidered by a deranged murderer who has escaped from the local secure hospital for the criminally insane. The other, helpless in her slippers, soon becomes the second victim in what police later describe as a frenzied attack. And that's one reason why I prefer to wear my shoes while I'm inside the house - just in case somebody breaks in and tries to axe me to death: I'd hate to be barefoot if that ever happened.

I could write stories and shit like that. It doesn't take a genius.


Genius
It doesn't take a genius to work out how to transfer music from vinyl to your PC if you have the right bit of wire and some software. I am victorious!


Shoelace conspiracy
Why do shoelaces always get twisted? It's so annoying. Like the cords on telephones: you forget how annoying this is because you tend to only use mobile or cordless phones, but your work phone is always corded and some dim fuck always manages to twist your cord despite the fact that you're always REALLY careful to leave it untangled. How difficult is it to put a telephone receiver down so that the cord doesn't tangle?


Oh brother!
My brother is a bit strange. I won't add to that because there's so much I could go into and I'd just get be very depressed.

Anyway, he has a PC and he doesn't really know how to use it. As a result, he keeps breaking it and then wonders why it doesn't work quite as well as it should. He keeps asking if I can go round and "sort it out" and I don't really know what this means since he claims to have already reformatted it. He phoned again earlier and asked when I might be able to go round. Mum has just asked "are you going to Alan's then?". Eh????

I can't really be arsed.... so tired. It's like a garage mechanic being asked to sort out somebody's car because it's not driving as they'd like and then finding out that they're driving with the handbrake on.

Better do my sisterly duty I suppose.

Bumholes.