Schadenfreude

The exigencies of my present employment mean that for the next little while at least I will be on secondment in another city 3 or 4 days a week. Thankfully I am provided with the luxury of solitude, amongst all the others, in my hotel accomodation. I can have smoked haddock with poached duck eggs brought to my room for breakfast if I like (I don't even need to ask for the tobasco - it is already there). I can tell reception: "No calls please, but can you send up a godfather, or two?" (A godfather is a wonderful thing... One part amaretto, two parts good whisky over ice and some gomme). Life is pretty bloody good when I'm away. It also reduces my contact with The Flatmate to a few days a week.

This doesn't stop me worrying about what The Flatmate is doing while I'm away. I have to confess that my chief concern is that she is getting drunk and inviting a parade of debauched visitors to come and thieve my things and fornicate on my lounge and ejaculate into my curtains. But this may simply be unfounded paranoia. Certainly, sniffing my curtains each time I get back will be seen as a sign of mental weakness.

So when the phone rang today and I saw it was her my immediate reaction was to howl in preparation for some new fiasco. Our conversation went a bit like this:

Me: "Hello, Paula..." *gulp*

The Flatmate: "Mmmphh garp phphtttt..."

Me: "Oh... I see..."

The Flatmate: "ffffclucking dethtitht!!!"

Me: "Deth-thitht? Dentist?"

The Flatmate: "Yeth! Phphpttt garg bloop thutht impacted blarg choop phtpht wisdom teeth extraction."

What glee. O happy days. In the immortal words of Trey Parker: "Fuck Yeah!"

Herbicide most foul

I had a lovely Spathiphyllum Clevelandii. I have had this plant for about 6 months. It was really beautiful. I had looked after this thing with care and attention. Trimming off any dead leaves, making sure it got exactly the right amount of light and water. I dusted it. It was the healthiest fucking Spathiphyllum on planet earth. It gleamed.

I discovered it lying on it's side in the back yard, absolutely covered in a horde of giant slugs (I'm not kidding, these babies were 4 inches long), and almost completely destroyed.

Utterly beside myself with rage; I enquired what possible fucking reason The Flatmate could possibly have to touch my Spathiphyllum, what possibe logic in putting it where she did, and Christ Almighty why leave it there for three fucking days?

Apparently she put it outside to get some light. But some nasty slugs crawled on it and it fell over. And she couldn't go near it because they might bite her or bark at her or jump up off the fucking ground and gnaw on her fucking spine. And so she left Spathy there to die.

Today's reason I hate my flatmate:

She's a fucking murderer.

Take her anywhere... Once

Curious that The Flatmate didn't really feature in that last post... The hatred just flows from everything she touches. Anyway, the conclusion to the boiler debacle is welcome.

This weekend The Flatmate and I went out for a drink, and some tapas. I sometimes wonder why I do this sort of thing to myself. I mean, she is irritating in the extreme. But even a goddamn werewolf has its good points. So, ever the martyr, I persevered and decided that, what the fuck, I'll go have a meal with her just in case she's learned to behave.

So we're sitting there in the restaurant with our drinks (hers was the inevitable double vodka and coke), waiting for the food and she starts to really scoff her vodka. Before long she's drunk. She's talking really loudly and swearing a lot. The waiter, who was happy to see us, is now frowning at her. This is really starting to embarrass me.

Then a friend of mine (who happens to own a couple of bars in town) walks in with his wife. The Flatmate is duly introduced to the pair and proceeds to slur and swear at them. Then from out of nowhere, and for no discernable reason, she insults my friend's wife (who is a more than competent masseuse) by insinuating she is a hooker. This precipitates a brief shouting match and my friend takes his wife (who is now crying) out of the restaurant.

Needless to say I was fucking fuming. I am going to struggle to make any excuses for her, and to be honest, I'm fucked if I'm going to.