The least of my children
Having accumulated a sizeable amount of time in lieu, I decided that Thursday was a good day to take off, a fine day to enjoy the sunshine, catch up with myself, watch some Battlestar, spin some LPs, play some Turok, thump some guitar, whatever.
And so Thursday morning came. I'd had a lie in, and woke up around half 12. Slipped some shorts and a t-shirt on, and went upstairs to collect the post. And then, with my keys/wallet/phone in the house, the door shut behind me.
I spent the next 7 hours sat on my front door steps. Barefoot, scabbing cigarettes off builders. I kinda resigned myself to it after a while. My neighbours were very friendly. Ollie and Tania upstairs let me into their flat for an hour to use the phone, internet and play their piano. They are lovely people. The guy on our second floor gave me some Mayfair and offered to call his locksmith friend. The students next door made me coffee and showed me around their lush flat. Very jealous. Two community police officers stopped their rounds and chewed the fat with me for 30 minutes. They were desperate to help, and offered to kick the door in. Something I could have done myself, but they had regulation footwear. There was frantic calls to their station, where their Sergeant informed them that kicking doors in wasn't policy anymore- apparently last year there was a spate of people getting locked out, having their doors helpfully kicked in, who then sued the MET for damages. A bit cheeky.
Anyway, at 7pm, as the light began to fade and the chill crept in, my landlord and a locksmith arrived. Hurrah. Megan came over and we had an Indian take-away. Loveliness.
Since then, I've finished Battlestar Galactica (EPIC), spent two days staring into the bottom of a bottle, and uploaded my band's first record for a free download. Which you can get with clicking.
Also, established a contrived football blog. Cheers y'all.
And so Thursday morning came. I'd had a lie in, and woke up around half 12. Slipped some shorts and a t-shirt on, and went upstairs to collect the post. And then, with my keys/wallet/phone in the house, the door shut behind me.
I spent the next 7 hours sat on my front door steps. Barefoot, scabbing cigarettes off builders. I kinda resigned myself to it after a while. My neighbours were very friendly. Ollie and Tania upstairs let me into their flat for an hour to use the phone, internet and play their piano. They are lovely people. The guy on our second floor gave me some Mayfair and offered to call his locksmith friend. The students next door made me coffee and showed me around their lush flat. Very jealous. Two community police officers stopped their rounds and chewed the fat with me for 30 minutes. They were desperate to help, and offered to kick the door in. Something I could have done myself, but they had regulation footwear. There was frantic calls to their station, where their Sergeant informed them that kicking doors in wasn't policy anymore- apparently last year there was a spate of people getting locked out, having their doors helpfully kicked in, who then sued the MET for damages. A bit cheeky.
Anyway, at 7pm, as the light began to fade and the chill crept in, my landlord and a locksmith arrived. Hurrah. Megan came over and we had an Indian take-away. Loveliness.
Since then, I've finished Battlestar Galactica (EPIC), spent two days staring into the bottom of a bottle, and uploaded my band's first record for a free download. Which you can get with clicking.
Also, established a contrived football blog. Cheers y'all.