My Achy Breaky Heart


Here’s the story of my bathtub, pain, and Smurfs.

Do you know what the problem with men is? We do not, ever, clean out the hair from the bathtub plughole. I am especially guilty of this because I have incredibly long hair that is, may I add, incredibly sexy. Yet when I have a shower, the bathtub starts to fill up with water because the drain is full of my hair. A woman would sort out this problem immediately. A man would say, “Oh, I’ll sort it out tomorrow.” That’s what I said. Of course, I said it three weeks ago and now, by the end of my shower, the water in the bathtub is halfway up my leg. My shampoo bottle, fully submerged. I have arrived at the point where the drain must now be unclogged. Oh, I’ll do it tomorrow…

Of course, women reading this will say it’s not the only problem with men, and of course, they would be correct. But I feel the clogged drain is indicative of deeper problems with male kind. Lazy, feckless, useless – you know, perhaps I’m being unkind. There must be some men who do keep on top of bathroom cleanliness. Maybe it’ll go the way of the kitchen. In the olden days, the kitchen was seen as the ‘place’ for women, which is obviously nonsense. But nowadays, no, it’s the ‘place’ for men. Men love to cook these days. In the same way, it often seems like women end up cleaning the bathroom. So maybe, in the future, men will take over that chore, and rightly so, too. But I’m not quite there, yet, but equally, mother doesn’t bother either. It’s just left to fester, to be honest.

Of course, I’m master of neither the bathroom nor the kitchen. In fact, I’m terrified of the kitchen. The amount of times I’ve accidentally hurt myself, or set something on fire in there, is unbelievable. Of course, if the gender roles are switching, it does make me wonder if, in 20 years time, women the world over will be slouched in the armchair in front of the television, watching a sports game, one hand grasping a cold beer and the other scratching their arse. Then again, I’ve known women who are like that now…

Of course, many would say that gender roles are an antiquated idea, but there’s no denying that certain genders are more likely to do certain things. Like men not cleaning their goddamn hair out of the goddamn drain.

All this said, I have been doing a spot of tidying and cleaning this week, but that said, men still aren’t very good at it. I’m covered in more bruises, scratches, cuts, grazes and rashes than I care to mention. Although I will admit, some of them were caused by my crawling through the attic…

You go up the ladder, through the hatch, and on one side, there’s the attic space, and on the other, the boiler/heater/tank thingamajig (as you can probably tell, I’m not a plumber). Behind that thing, is more attic space, but the only way to reach it is to climb over precarious wooden boards that aren’t nailed down, boards that are jammed between all manner of roof beams. The gap you have to get in is tiny. Getting into the space behind the thing was a nightmare. It was easier to put a man on the Moon.

Dad wanted to do it, but he’s nearly 65, he has arthritis and all manner of joint problems, he’s on 20 pills a day, and he, this week, for the third time this year, fell down the stairs. He’s fine, don’t worry. He’s a toughy. So there was no way I was letting him get in that crawl space. He wouldn’t have fared too well. That said, I didn’t either. I came out covered in rashes and the next day, my hands had turned blue. I wonder if we have something in our attic that turns people into Smurfs…

It didn’t concern me too much, though, because that night, I was sleeping on the floor. My beloved old bed had been dismantled leaving me to sleep on a lumpy and broken 15-year-old mattress for the night. It left me in a grumpy mood, which is probably why I quite enjoyed seeing the Scottish delivery men struggle to get my new bed up our u-shaped staircase.


Ha, ha, ha…

It’s a high bed, is my new one. I mean, ridiculously high. My feet don’t even touch the floor when I’m sitting on the side, and I’m six foot two. It’s sure pretty, though, and mightily comfy. I was having a great first night’s sleep on it until I was awoken at about four in the morning, having only been asleep for a few hours (my ‘Back to the Future’ marathon ran a bit long). I was awoken by the sound of dad tumbling down the stairs, but I’ll reiterate, he’s fine and walking about with only a little limp.

He is as accident-prone as I am, though. He fell over last year whilst out for a newspaper and landed on a street sign. That he bent pretty badly. The council still haven’t sorted it out. That led to a night in the hospital. He hates hospitals, so when he ends up in one, we cheer him up by telling him how awful the food looks.

Aye, the hospital is the only place I’ve seen him cry, when he had a small stroke a few years ago. The fact he came through that without a single scratch on him, yet here I am covered in cuts and bruises after doing a spot of spring-cleaning, goes to show just how strong he is. And how much of a complete and utter pussy I am…

I didn’t fall out of my new bed, readers. The thing is, mother was insistent that I go through all my mountains of stuff and throw as much out as possible. She also made me scrub the walls, which dad ‘helped’ me with. It was his idea to use bleach. Which, as he was spraying it, bounced off the highly glossy walls and covered me head to toe. Come to think of it, it might be why I turned blue.

“Dad, you’re not helping!”

I have a lot of stuff, readers. Stuff that is very heavy. Some stuff that is very pointy and sharp. And all of it had to be moved, changed, altered, cleaned or thrown out. Have you any idea what it feels like to be hit with a guitar string as it snaps and hits your arm at what feels like the speed of light? It’s amazing I didn’t lose a finger as I was using the shredder, isn’t it?

It was at this point that mother said I needed a new television stand, my current one is a bit tatty and tired, and so she bought a new one for me. How nice. An early Christmas present. What? Still not feeling very Christmassy? Come on, my town already has the Christmas lights and three Christmas trees up. 50 days to go, people…

Do you know what else mother bought me this week? An air freshener. That purchase I was less happy about.

So the new stand. It’s more of a huge wooden unit with drawers and some cupboard space. It’s coming this week. Obviously, dad can’t help me assemble it, so it’s down to me. Oh, spiffing.

I’ve had a hectic week, guys. It got so tiring and exhausting that at one point I, literally, collapsed whilst carrying a box upstairs. About halfway up, I fell to my knees and my head slammed down onto the top of the box. I stayed that way for about half an hour.

“Where’s Ally?” dad asked, waiting in the attic (before his accident).

“Hang on a minute, he’s having a heart attack,” mother replied.

It’s been that kinda week…

American writer, Jarod Kintz (b. 1982), once wrote: “Hoping to get a head start on the next day, I eat breakfast the night before. That way I can sleep in until two in the afternoon.”

Peace Out :|:

I’d love to hear your thoughts on this post. You can leave a comment and/or like this post below, or by clicking the title on the top of this post if you are on the ‘Archives’ page. Likes and follows greatly appreciated. Thanks.

Please feel free check out the latest posts from my other two blogs:

To Contrive & Jive
New Posts Every Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday
Click Here to Read the Latest Post

Hark Around the Words
New Posts Every Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday
Click Here to Read the Latest Post


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