Hole in the wall

It was one of those days. I’m glad I’m in bed now. I’ll probably spill this hot mug of camomile over my crotch just as I hit the schedule button.

Driving back from Brighton was a breeze. I was happy, full of green tea on clear roads listening to interesting stuff about Deism on Radio 4 and passing the miles by instinct. The road just unraveled.

Then back into London but carrying Brighton energy, so I got a parking ticket for a five minute stop because I momentarily had my head in the clouds while it all started to get urban again. I was a minute too late.

We got some work done in the bedroom though, and then at noon we went for a quick run to B&Q that turned into a mission. They’ve closed all the local B&Qs. We didn’t get back to the flat until quarter past four after ending up in Croydon and then I had to stop the noisy work in order to do some filming in the green screen.

Now I’ve got a hole in my spare bedroom and rubble all over the floor, we didn’t quite nail the filming so the green screen is still set up, I paid a full day for a few hours of work in the room and a long drive around town, plus 55 quid for a parking ticket, and my roof has been leaking so badly that it’s probably a fool’s errand to plaster it up again anyway until something has been done about the water coming in, which my leasehold management company have ignored for years despite scaffold coming up the block and my making as much noise about it as possible when that happened.

Ahhh it feels better writing all that shit down. I should be able to sleep now. It’s only money and time. I’ll be in a window with a silly head on for two days again starting tomorrow and there’s gold in tham thar heads, believe it or not. Money for time. Round and round we go.

A hole in the wall instead of a damp patch somehow feels like progress. It really needs to be fixed at source. It could all happen again in heavy rain. I’m gonna need to talk seriously to the guys who take my expensive service charge and see if they can work out why the fecking roof is leaking. The longer it goes the worse it gets and it has been more than a year now.

Right now I’m going to go to sleep and let all the stress roll off me. Then tomorrow I won’t achieve much but at least I’ll get to make people smile for money.

Author: albarclay

This blog is a work of creative writing. Do not mistake it for truth. All opinions are mine and not that of my numerous employers.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s