(no subject)
*is sore*
So, I didn't sleep. I moved shit. So now there is a pile of random shite in the hall, most of which is bound for a charity shop but a few items may be saleable; a bag of shoes and clothes in the lounge, ditto; a box of random shite, a few bags of crafty stuff, and several piles of paper in the dining room, and also a guitar and some recorders which are now going to live there instead of beside my wardrobe and under my bed respectively; and a fair amount of random shite, and a lot of books, in my room. I took everything out from under the furniture, and I hoovered (and I now understand why we still have the ratty purple one - it is called Vampyr and it sucks like a demon) and I put some boxes back under the bed - I have all my university notes, and I'm never going to use them, but still... And I looked at some photos and went, shit, I don't remember half these people's names. But the stuff on top of the furniture, which is quite a bit, will have to wait for another time.
My lower back and my thighs hurt. Also my nose, because I've been sneezing a lot.
But that's not the best part of today. Forget the spiders. Forget scraping my knuckles while destroying my old wicker laundry basket. Forget disposing of rotting fruit from the bowl in the kitchen. Forget the science experiment mould in the fridge (which I put in the bin, and poured boiling water into the tub, but hell no, I am not scrubbing that thing). (Actually, last Friday night, I was going to have filled pasta, because there was half a packet left in the fridge, but then I looked at it and said, that's odd, I didn't think it was supposed to be green... oh.) Anyway. Forget all that, because when I came back from the shop this afternoon (catfood and chocolate and cheesecake) I heard a beep.
It was maybe every minute. It was, uh, piercing. It only took a few beeps to figure out which smoke alarm it was, but I didn't have anything to climb on, and it wasn't very often, after all, so I left it, and decided that paternal could deal with it when he got back.
A while later, BEEP. I got a chair out of the parental's room, but I couldn't quite reach to get the thing down. I looked in the other bedrooms for ladders, but no joy, so I figured they would be in the garage, and couldn't really be arsed, so I turned my music up, and I had a bath.
Later still, BEEP. I went down and checked for ladders in the dining room. I found a stepladder in the kitchen, which gave me a couple more inches, so I could unscrew it, but couldn't reach to detach it from the mains, and it was a little precarious. I popped up and down a couple of times, pressing buttons, whatnot. No good.
Later still, BEEP. The beeping had been going for about four hours, at this point. I went out to the garage, out in the drizzle and the wet and bare feet; no sodding ladders. I knew there were ladders at the flat the parentals are attempting to renovate, but I thought there was another set somewhere - clearly nowhere I could find. So, fed up, I climbed up again, and untwisted it again, and poked at the screws, and eventually stuck a wad of blu-tack over the speaker to muffle it a bit. It wasn't hugely successful, but it took the edge off.
I decided that, if the parentals weren't back by the time I went to bed (and I didn't know then, but they aren't due until lunchtime tomorrow), I would flip the circuit breakers and cut through the damn wires, because I find it hard enough getting to sleep at the best of times. I mean, I would have re-wired it once paternal got back and found something tall enough for me to climb on.
Two hours later, I was downstairs and, on a sudden inspiration, looked in the cloakroom, the one room in which I hadn't previously looked, which I hadn't been using because there were suitcases and other assorted crap. Including ladders, right in front of the door. So I put up the ladder and up I went, untwisted, and poked at it with my penknife, and disconnected it from the mains - hurrah! thought I, and trotted down the ladder. BEEP.
Of course, thought I. The battery back-up. So I opened the battery door, and I pulled at the little ribbon, but the thing BEEPed again, and I yanked, and the ribbon came out. Completely. So my penknife came out again, and I pried out the battery.
And the motherfucker only went and BEEPed again! "Intermittent beep: Warning of low or missing battery." said the label. I was severely tempted to throw it out the window and let it BEEP until it died, but no, I went downstairs, and, luckily for my relative sanity, a battery of the right type was at the top of the battery drawer; which battery I inserted, then re-connected and re-attached the smoke alarm to its rightful place. And took the blu-tack off. And put the ladders back.
And went downstairs and watched TV for a couple of hours.
Of course, my last smoke alarm adventure was when I left a candle burning unattended, and when it burned down, the wax ran all over and it caught a tissue and started to flare up, and this was at, oh, three in the morning, and I certainly wasn't alone in the house then; I seem to recall paternal trying to switch off the wrong smoke alarm...
Oh. And the other funny thing. Paternal has been talking about me helping out in the flat, but I'm forbidden to go up the ladder when I'm there on my own.
Sigh. Back is quite ow, really. Silly me with my crappy posture. But my bedroom floor and rug are, like, clean. It's probably the first time that's happened since we moved in.
I am now going to go and take advantage of my last night alone here.
So, I didn't sleep. I moved shit. So now there is a pile of random shite in the hall, most of which is bound for a charity shop but a few items may be saleable; a bag of shoes and clothes in the lounge, ditto; a box of random shite, a few bags of crafty stuff, and several piles of paper in the dining room, and also a guitar and some recorders which are now going to live there instead of beside my wardrobe and under my bed respectively; and a fair amount of random shite, and a lot of books, in my room. I took everything out from under the furniture, and I hoovered (and I now understand why we still have the ratty purple one - it is called Vampyr and it sucks like a demon) and I put some boxes back under the bed - I have all my university notes, and I'm never going to use them, but still... And I looked at some photos and went, shit, I don't remember half these people's names. But the stuff on top of the furniture, which is quite a bit, will have to wait for another time.
My lower back and my thighs hurt. Also my nose, because I've been sneezing a lot.
But that's not the best part of today. Forget the spiders. Forget scraping my knuckles while destroying my old wicker laundry basket. Forget disposing of rotting fruit from the bowl in the kitchen. Forget the science experiment mould in the fridge (which I put in the bin, and poured boiling water into the tub, but hell no, I am not scrubbing that thing). (Actually, last Friday night, I was going to have filled pasta, because there was half a packet left in the fridge, but then I looked at it and said, that's odd, I didn't think it was supposed to be green... oh.) Anyway. Forget all that, because when I came back from the shop this afternoon (catfood and chocolate and cheesecake) I heard a beep.
It was maybe every minute. It was, uh, piercing. It only took a few beeps to figure out which smoke alarm it was, but I didn't have anything to climb on, and it wasn't very often, after all, so I left it, and decided that paternal could deal with it when he got back.
A while later, BEEP. I got a chair out of the parental's room, but I couldn't quite reach to get the thing down. I looked in the other bedrooms for ladders, but no joy, so I figured they would be in the garage, and couldn't really be arsed, so I turned my music up, and I had a bath.
Later still, BEEP. I went down and checked for ladders in the dining room. I found a stepladder in the kitchen, which gave me a couple more inches, so I could unscrew it, but couldn't reach to detach it from the mains, and it was a little precarious. I popped up and down a couple of times, pressing buttons, whatnot. No good.
Later still, BEEP. The beeping had been going for about four hours, at this point. I went out to the garage, out in the drizzle and the wet and bare feet; no sodding ladders. I knew there were ladders at the flat the parentals are attempting to renovate, but I thought there was another set somewhere - clearly nowhere I could find. So, fed up, I climbed up again, and untwisted it again, and poked at the screws, and eventually stuck a wad of blu-tack over the speaker to muffle it a bit. It wasn't hugely successful, but it took the edge off.
I decided that, if the parentals weren't back by the time I went to bed (and I didn't know then, but they aren't due until lunchtime tomorrow), I would flip the circuit breakers and cut through the damn wires, because I find it hard enough getting to sleep at the best of times. I mean, I would have re-wired it once paternal got back and found something tall enough for me to climb on.
Two hours later, I was downstairs and, on a sudden inspiration, looked in the cloakroom, the one room in which I hadn't previously looked, which I hadn't been using because there were suitcases and other assorted crap. Including ladders, right in front of the door. So I put up the ladder and up I went, untwisted, and poked at it with my penknife, and disconnected it from the mains - hurrah! thought I, and trotted down the ladder. BEEP.
Of course, thought I. The battery back-up. So I opened the battery door, and I pulled at the little ribbon, but the thing BEEPed again, and I yanked, and the ribbon came out. Completely. So my penknife came out again, and I pried out the battery.
And the motherfucker only went and BEEPed again! "Intermittent beep: Warning of low or missing battery." said the label. I was severely tempted to throw it out the window and let it BEEP until it died, but no, I went downstairs, and, luckily for my relative sanity, a battery of the right type was at the top of the battery drawer; which battery I inserted, then re-connected and re-attached the smoke alarm to its rightful place. And took the blu-tack off. And put the ladders back.
And went downstairs and watched TV for a couple of hours.
Of course, my last smoke alarm adventure was when I left a candle burning unattended, and when it burned down, the wax ran all over and it caught a tissue and started to flare up, and this was at, oh, three in the morning, and I certainly wasn't alone in the house then; I seem to recall paternal trying to switch off the wrong smoke alarm...
Oh. And the other funny thing. Paternal has been talking about me helping out in the flat, but I'm forbidden to go up the ladder when I'm there on my own.
Sigh. Back is quite ow, really. Silly me with my crappy posture. But my bedroom floor and rug are, like, clean. It's probably the first time that's happened since we moved in.
I am now going to go and take advantage of my last night alone here.