So I’m alone in my flat, enjoying a bath and listening to Codeine. The time is 1pm, it’s a Saturday, and I’m fresh from having avoided alcohol the night before. I’m looking forward to the day ahead which will involve getting chores out of the way – shopping for Easter eggs, putting my amp in for repair, perhaps a haircut? Codeine are sounding amazing and I’m energized, ready for the day ahead. Not feeling hungover and useless is going to allow me to get things done, to have a productive day for once.
Oh, how wrong I was…
I finish my bath and decide to have a bite to eat, getting partially dressed in jeans and trainers (I don’t recall why I decided against putting on a t-shirt). I wander into the kitchen to see what I have in my cupboard and am shocked and appalled by the state of the place – I decide there and then that a little clean-up operation will have to take place before I make anything to eat. The bin is full and there is another full bin-bag on the floor so this is where I concentrate my initial efforts. I heave them up and wander back through the hallway to the front door which I open… only to discover about three more bin-bags out on the landing. A little organisation is what is needed here. I dump the bags I’m carrying and set about creating a lovely ‘bin-bag pile’ on the landing. Half-way through my task I’m suddenly struck by the feeling of something being amiss… With perfect comedy timing I turn my head just in time to see the flat door slam shut.
Oh dear.
So there I am, out on the landing at about 1.30pm wearing jeans, trainers and fuck all else. A quick check of the pockets reveal nothing – no money, no phone, no wallet, no keys. And no flatmates home either. All that is on the landing is a few bin-bags and Stu, with his skinny ice-white upper body on show.
The story will continue later…
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