Like the last cruiser fleeing Hoth . . . sort of

Today. the 16th November 2011, was going to be a defining moment in my existence.

The mission objectives were simple; return to South East London, collect the remainder of my possessions (most noticeably, my Totoro teddy . . . more on that to follow), and flee from whence I came back to my northern stronghold.

The day did not get off to the most . . . professional of starts.  Rather than enjoying a montage of running in the rain to Eminem or Rammstein before commencing on my mission, I was preparing and focussing with a combination of being having a nightmare about a swarm of mechanical spiders (Lukeus, I blame you for this), my cat demanding more biscuits to be added to his already-full biscuit bowl, and having a text conversation with Poppy about my introduction to Iconicles (BBC2, 08:30am - watch it!)

Let me fill you in on the situtation (or, to keep the whole military theme going, I shall provide a 'sit-rep'). Roughly two weeks ago I left my life in my quiet Derbyshire town in search of much better employment and career opportunities in London.  It was something of a catch-22 situation; nowhere would offer me a job as I was using an address a fair few hundred miles away from London, and without having a job to come to, I was trying to find some budget accomodation . . . . and boy, did I find it!

The advert read 'furnished semi-converted warehouse' and was only charging £150 per month!  Again, the thrifty northerner in me took ahold, and leapt at the opportunity.  On the day I moved in, I found that the 'furnished' room consisted of the following;

• A mattress . . . with no bed (so it was just on the floor.
• A sofa with all but one missing cushion, and that was an arm one.
• A pin-board with some incense attached.
•  2004 business calender.

Actually, this is a lie.  I was also provided with some thick green dust-sheets that had to be hung over the windows at all times 'in case anyone sees us inside' . . . . the plot thickens greatly.  After some more gentle probing (which took some time, as my housemates were all Polish, and the ring-leader of which complained that she couldn't understand my accent and that I should speak "proper English" . . . . wow!) I was also told that we were not able to use the address to have sent to - again, in case people realised there were people living there.  Furthermore, there is no overhead lighting in the entire building, and the plugs only work from one end of this fairly big empty building, so I had to trail 30m extension cords to my room . . . and then plug in a load of electric heaters and fairy lights just so I could see what I was doing after it got dark at 16:30.  So yes, it was very depressing, and I imagine that after much longer living there I would have hung myself from my electricity-less ceiling . . . and not being discovered unless the dust-sheets over the windows fell down and let in enough light for one to actually see anything.  I was going to get some photographs but . . . no, I'm too ashamed of my own naivety. . . so instead, here is a dramatic mock-up of how I imagined my escape to look like;

Fast forward four hours - 13:28

The target zone had been entered.  The I was, outside 'Dylon Inte-national' (the 'r' had fallen off, and was lying outside the front entrance) which is also my abode.  I was there thinking I would need to sneak in, like a panther partaking in . . . well, panther-esque undertakings.  Fighting back the ivy, and delicately unlocking the double doors, I slinked in (stepping over a worryingly large mound of cat faeces as I did so).  I fought my way through the gloom up the wide stairs, my hood pulled up, my fingerless gloves being fingerless, my white dilapidated Converse-all stars giving away my position as much as the odd cracking noise my ankles always - I mean always! - eminate.

The destination was reached at 13:30.  Pressing my back against the outer wall, I gathered my breath, held it . . . and then stormed my own bedroom!  Hastily gathering all my possessions which I couldn't take on my initial trip - Totoro teddy, Deathnote collection, monster slippers, random notes on pretty much anything - and then as I was about to exit the building - ideally by diving through a window in slow motion in a shower of glass - I realised that I was there on my own . . . so instead I made myself a lovely cup of herbal tea, had a five-minute break on my seatless sofa, and then nonchalantly exited stage right.

There I had visions of fleeing Dylon Inte_national in a style similar to the rebel alliance fleeing Hoth, but instead I left with a spring in my step, a lemon taste in my mouth, and a smug sense of detoxicating smugness.

Soooooo, yes, that was my day!  A lot less eventful than I initially prepared myself for . . . spent most of the journey home texting Poppy about 'Hey Arthur' and trying to sleep with a cracking headache. But the salient point is . . . 

I have re-claimed my Totoro teddy.  True, he is not really mine to claim; I bought him for Lyla but . . . . blergh!  Totoro shares my bed every night.



. . . . . . . not like that, jeez!  Can you imagine? In fact, don't try to imagine.