Cleanliness is Godless
Today was the last day at my job. Lola finished a few weeks ago and has begun the almighty task of sterilising the fuck out of the foulness that is our flat – it was foul before we arrived, the black mould grows like Bovril in a warm Petrie dish on the wooden window frames. When the sun dares to shine through the back bedroom window, a dust cloud rears up reminiscent of the climax of The Scorpion King or The Mummy – two very interchangeable films.
Call the cops. The collection of chemicals we are in currently possession of, would make a middle eastern dictator blush as we try and restore this Edwardian “shitdump” as Lola lovingly refers to it. All this in a ridiculously vain attempt to snatch back our deposit, a task hindered by the knowledge that our cheap ass landlord doubles as a tenant/landlord solicitor. Bugger. My thoughts exactly. Cleaning is all part of the ritual of leaving I guess, so if you’re at the Slough Municipal Recycling Centre tomorrow in the exquisite Chalvey there maybe some bargains to be had.
Oh and the sofa finally went to Freecycler #5 Alex from Australia who strapped the 2.2 metre beast to the roof of his Ford Focus and drove off as he shouted down his mobile to his wife “it’s a goodun!” I hope he and his 3 kids enjoy it and don’t find anything too unpleasant inside.
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