operator, giving me compliments about my hair – that or telling me I must have a great palate as I had not just ketchup but pesto in my cupboard. It was on the umpteenth time of politely offering him an alcoholic beverage that was always accepted, I suddenly realised that this was not in fact normal and viewed him the way you do a person in a documentary. He was still living in the belief that his business wasn’t a failure and that any minute he was going to be able to open up his nightclub once again. What he was planning to do precisely I have no idea, but he was never going to build an empire sitting on that ever-increasing arse of his in my lounge.
Pity then gave way to frustration, as it soon became like having a boyfriend living with me, only that they wouldn’t even go off to the bedroom to leave you in peace, but sit there on the sofa monopolising the TV remote. Night after night, the two of them sat there, me the green and hairy one. And then Pete got his own set of keys and started to let himself in on route somewhere to ‘take a steaming dump’ as he called it, or to use up all my hot water. He would have drunk all our wine if it was about, but luckily we were immature enough never to have any actual wine on the wine rack. Tongue tied and nervous, I became the girl who just couldn’t face confronting Sienna, so I reasoned with myself that it just had to get better. The weeks that followed involved me locking myself away in the bedroom as though I were in a bedsit, only to hear him and Sienna in the lounge laughing and drinking.
The situation finally resolved itself but I’m ashamed to say, not through any assertiveness on my part. I just happened to burst into tears when having a coffee with Liv and Stan one day. I confessed that somehow I had found myself a guest in my own flat. Stan just told me to stop stressing and have a quiet word but not Liv – she went nuts! She marched up those stairs and chucked Pete’s Planet Hollywood jacket out the roof window to make a point, which then got stuck in the guttering where it still remains to this day. Whenever I see Pete at the pub, he’s as friendly as always. Sienna – not so much.
With Sienna now gone and leaving me somewhat traumatised, I knew I had to be more discerning in my search for a flatmate to avoid a repeat situation. This quest coincided with newly single Claire putting on Facebook that she was looking for somewhere to live. Okay, so she wasn’t very nice at school – in fact, she never actually had a proper conversation with me until her wedding day – but all these years on, it seemed so churlish to bear a grudge, so I spontaneously emailed her to say that she could rent a room off me. Admittedly, I had not seen her in the flesh for some time but figured she would have changed by now? Perhaps she was a little less mean as an adult. Unfortunately, she wasn’t.
I’m about to disappear into my room to change into loose clothing but then I think better of it. Staying in a cheap suit that has given static shocks all day makes me feel part of the happy working population. Besides, Claire, the Joan Collins to my Linda Evans, is always done up to the nines as though reality TV might ring the door at any minute, so I shall do the same. These girls don’t need to see my unemployment laid bare; my mental wellbeing reflected in dubious fashion choices. They don’t need to know that I’m fast turning into one of those people who pretend they have somewhere important to go but really go and sit in the park – or in my case, the Globe.
Claire just uses evenings like these to take full advantage of having a captive audience, even if it consists of only one other person. Credit where credit’s due, the evening theme does vary. Sometimes, she makes Linda try out a new line of shellac nails that prevent her from clapping properly, other times she threads Linda’s eyebrows to make her look permanently surprised, or like tonight, gives her a
Pity then gave way to frustration, as it soon became like having a boyfriend living with me, only that they wouldn’t even go off to the bedroom to leave you in peace, but sit there on the sofa monopolising the TV remote. Night after night, the two of them sat there, me the green and hairy one. And then Pete got his own set of keys and started to let himself in on route somewhere to ‘take a steaming dump’ as he called it, or to use up all my hot water. He would have drunk all our wine if it was about, but luckily we were immature enough never to have any actual wine on the wine rack. Tongue tied and nervous, I became the girl who just couldn’t face confronting Sienna, so I reasoned with myself that it just had to get better. The weeks that followed involved me locking myself away in the bedroom as though I were in a bedsit, only to hear him and Sienna in the lounge laughing and drinking.
The situation finally resolved itself but I’m ashamed to say, not through any assertiveness on my part. I just happened to burst into tears when having a coffee with Liv and Stan one day. I confessed that somehow I had found myself a guest in my own flat. Stan just told me to stop stressing and have a quiet word but not Liv – she went nuts! She marched up those stairs and chucked Pete’s Planet Hollywood jacket out the roof window to make a point, which then got stuck in the guttering where it still remains to this day. Whenever I see Pete at the pub, he’s as friendly as always. Sienna – not so much.
With Sienna now gone and leaving me somewhat traumatised, I knew I had to be more discerning in my search for a flatmate to avoid a repeat situation. This quest coincided with newly single Claire putting on Facebook that she was looking for somewhere to live. Okay, so she wasn’t very nice at school – in fact, she never actually had a proper conversation with me until her wedding day – but all these years on, it seemed so churlish to bear a grudge, so I spontaneously emailed her to say that she could rent a room off me. Admittedly, I had not seen her in the flesh for some time but figured she would have changed by now? Perhaps she was a little less mean as an adult. Unfortunately, she wasn’t.
I’m about to disappear into my room to change into loose clothing but then I think better of it. Staying in a cheap suit that has given static shocks all day makes me feel part of the happy working population. Besides, Claire, the Joan Collins to my Linda Evans, is always done up to the nines as though reality TV might ring the door at any minute, so I shall do the same. These girls don’t need to see my unemployment laid bare; my mental wellbeing reflected in dubious fashion choices. They don’t need to know that I’m fast turning into one of those people who pretend they have somewhere important to go but really go and sit in the park – or in my case, the Globe.
Claire just uses evenings like these to take full advantage of having a captive audience, even if it consists of only one other person. Credit where credit’s due, the evening theme does vary. Sometimes, she makes Linda try out a new line of shellac nails that prevent her from clapping properly, other times she threads Linda’s eyebrows to make her look permanently surprised, or like tonight, gives her a
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