1000 & Still Calamitous.
Another milestone reached. It seems like only yesterday I was harking on about my 100th site hit. The things I said. This will never be beaten. This is more than I could have ever imagined. You can imagine my surprise when my useless tripe arrived at 500 hits. I almost fainted. I was looking around the internet to find somebody advertising my blog with the headline ‘Free Cash Prize’. But I didn’t find it. But 1000. Oh, wow. I’d like to thank my family for believing in me, my beloved hobo Julius, all my online friends, of course Jebus – all of you never gave up faith in me and stuck by me even through the numerous drug, drink and prostitution scandals that I totally denied in court but totally happened (unless my lawyer is reading). But seriously, I never could have imagined my blog would get as many hits as there are people in the South Pacific island country of Niue. And that’s a fact, ladies and gentleman, an honest-to-God fact. On my blog! Can you believe it?
So the big change in my life this week is that I’m alone. Mum and dad went on holiday. They are in the Czech Republic. I really wish they had told me, though, rather than leave that note. It was one of those notes written on a scrap of paper, you know, the kind of paper that’s all scrunched up and dirty right at the back of the notepad. The letter ‘c’ at the end of ‘We’re off to the Czech Republic’ trailed off the edge of the page and the rest of it was clearly noticeable on the beige sofa. I think they wrote in a hurry. Now I think about it, I don’t think they like me very much. Sob, sob. Cue violin.
I’m not very good at being by myself. I genuinely fear for the moment I move out of mum and dad’s house for the first time. I’ve never lived anywhere by myself, or indeed anywhere else but home. So you can probably imagine the long list of things that have gone wrong whilst mum and dad have been on holiday in the past.
Most memorable of these was somehow setting the non-flammable oven gloves on fire. I was in the kitchen running from one end to the other panicking with flaming oven gloves trying desperately to get those things off my hands. Flailing my hands wildly in the air whilst absolutely terrified and screaming only made things worse. It got to the point where I was trying to blow out what was becoming a serious fire. I gave it one last attempt, and I threw my arms forward to see the oven gloves finally come flying off my hands.
I turn around and ran to the sink to get wet a cloth to put on the gloves only for no water to come out of the tap. I turn around and the fire is now best described at ‘substantial’. I’m yelling at the tap to start working, but it doesn’t (as if it would). I gave up on the tap and I leapt through the air Bruce Willis style with the cloth and dived on the flames. With the cloth now covering the flaming oven gloves I start stamping on them to put out the flames.
I hear a loud explosion and I turn around to look at the oven, where the noise came from, only to see the thickest white smoke coming from its very innards. I take the cloth off the oven gloves and start wafting the smoke, the smoke alarm behind me sounds, and I turn around (as an instinctive reaction) only to see the oven gloves are behaving like those candles you can’t blow out. I open the window and I throw them outside into the pouring rain. I run to shut up the smoke alarm, which is outside the kitchen, only for the door to blow shut because the window is open. I race back inside the kitchen to find a room steamier than a Swedish sauna. I have the bright idea to turn on the extractor fan but I can’t see it and I bang my head on it (drawing blood, by the way).
The smoke eventually cleared but the oven was charcoaled. I spent two hours cleaning it. It had blown up. Needless to say, the pork chops didn’t taste so nice. It was a bad day, I think that’s fair to say. What’s makes it worse is that I’m not making that up. That really happened. Well, ‘leapt through the air like Bruce Willis’ may be slightly exaggerated. More like Chuck Yeager.
So, what happened to me whilst mum and dad were away this week? Not much, really. Been a rather uneventful few days. I mean, on one day I did open the fridge door and a glass with water in it fell out, spilling the water all over me and shattering into a million tiny little painful pieces. I’ve also burnt various body parts in various ways over the past few days. I’ve also burnt several pizzas. I also went to the shops (which you know terrifies me), and I was stuck in there in a busy shop trying to get two papers into a carrier bag for a good few minutes. I also slipped over on the ice on the way home. By that point, I was starving (and sore), only to find the bread for my lovely breakfast toast had gone off. So I got a new loaf out of the freezer and I had to defrost it in the microwave. Finally, my breakfast – but no, the toaster exploded. I poked it with several implements and got it working. Then I burnt the toast. I think I need a hug.
Weirdly, none of this happened on Friday the 13th. That was my luckiest day of the week. Funny that.
‘At the innermost core of all loneliness is a deep and powerful yearning for union with one’s lost self’, said the late Irish poet, short story writer, novelist and playwright Brendan Francis Behan.
Peace Out :|: