Sunday, September 30, 2007

Shit Tubes, Exploding Computers, and Noisy Neighbours Mk II

I went to a mate's wedding on Friday. As a result, my last day at work last week was Thursday.

It started well enough that day; I got up early and packed (the wedding was miles out of the way and necessitated a spell on beds and sofas), then my boss phoned to inform me that the tubes were up the spout. Armed with this bit of insider knowledge, I bypassed the tube line directly behind my shit flat, and walked the fifteen minutes or so to Hammersmith. Imagine my surprise when I got the the Hammersmith and City line and that too was closed, citing a suspicious 'lack of trains'. Starting to panic, I called my boss who told me to take the neighbouring Picadilly like to South Kensington and take a bus to work.

So I did, amid heaving, miserable crowds. At South Ken, I left the station and consulted a map. The 414 bus would take me to work, so I looked up, saw it coming, and jumped on. Not too bad - At this rate I would only be 10 minutes late.

Except it hadn't occurred to me to check what direction the bus was going. I had sat on the bus for 20 minutes reading the paper before I realised I was actually heading back home.

My boss called me a 'fucking disgrace.'

The night before my travelling cock-up, actually due, it transpired, to a wildcat strike because presumably one of the world's most expensive and ageing underground networks isn't shit enough without random, unannounced crippling walkouts, I had boasted to my boss about my new CD/ DVD burner that had arrived by courier at work. I had told him how I intended to open up my new computer at home, then install the new drive and wire it up, as it's cheap and easy and I could start rattling off bumper cds of music and porn.

So I go home and my computer explodes. As far as I could tell, I did everything properly, installed the drive just below the current CD, and did everything as instructed. So I was a little surprised when I inserted the mains lead. Rather than having the desired effect of powering up my computer, instead I broke it with a POP and an electrical flash. It is now dead. Apparently it's not uncommon for such a fusing of the computer to have affected the motherboard too, meaning that if I ever get the machine working again, it'll be blanker than the accumulated teenage brainpower gathered outside the Acton McDonalds on a Saturday night.

So this is being typed on Large Northern Flatmate's laptop, on a Sunday afternoon.

The wedding was great fun, my first non-denominational event with no mention of That Guy to ruin proceedings. It also felt like a stag reunion with a marriage attached. There was a free bar all night (although they did run out at the end and no-one had told me after I'd received my drinks. I then had to pay for them with Marks & Spencer's vouchers as I had nothing else on me.) That night I was being put up at my lady Muslim friend's parent's house nearby. I probably shouldn't have bothered keeping her folks up til 3am to ascertain that There Absolutely Isn't A God. Needless to say, they didn't agree, although they were a bit short of proof themselves.

I felt rather delicate waking up with a hangover, and a little guilty eating toast in front of the family when they're all observing Ramadan and not actually eating during daylight hours. Then I had to travel back to London for some regrettably necessary Saturday work.

So it's been eventful and I may have lost everything I own on my computer, And that includes, hmm, let me see? Oh yes, 40,000 words I've written for NaNoWriMo. My Magnum Opus. My Write-A-Novel-In-A-Month, four-fifths from completion, potentially obliterated.

I'm so very, very, very happy.

And then, last night, 5am to be precise, a very early Sunday morning, banging techno. Again. My French neighbour back to his old tricks. It was louder than normal, more Go-Fuck-Yourself than I thought he'd ever stoop to again, but there it was, banging away. Large Northern Flatmate had finally been woken up by it and was fuming. I was just bored and indifferent. Being a weekend helped, but I was at a loss as to what to do. But LNF was in the mood to do something. He went next door and returned, saying he couldn't actually hear anything when he got there, then it occured to him that it was coming from upstairs, our new neighbours from our own block who had only recently moved in. Flatmate banged on their door, I heard frantic footsteps, the music went off immediately.

So now we have a techno wall of sound coming at us from two directions, unannounced and between the hours of midnight and 6am.

Everything is Utterly Fucking Rubbish.

12 comments:

Vi vi vi vooom!!!!!!!! said...

Yep the title of your blog is so apt!

I'd like to be positive and say 'hey things can only get better'

but fuck it. No, it wont. ;P

sue said...

It's nice to have you back. I've been missing your misery!

Z said...

According to my understanding of the scriptures, ones behaviour or beliefs should have absolutely no effect on what happens in life.

Nevertheless, I can't resist mentioning that I go to church* with awful regularity and boring sincerity. And I'm consistently bloody lucky.

There is no connection, especially since There Absolutely Isn't A God.

*thinks* Maybe it's how you look at it? Tell it as a funny story and you will feel quite different.

Oh Jesus - sorry Fweng, I think I might have made you feel worse.

*I also appreciate that you are Jewish.

Peach said...

might as well do the lottery, with your luck....

luna said...

Never do the lottery,with your lack of luck, you'd lose the winning ticket in a bar's toilet...and LNF would pick it up after you!
\
I can't believe you haven't printed your novel's first draft.
Oh well, you've been cheating and writing ahead of everyone else anyway....

I've got an idea: HYPNOSIS!
They say the subconcious is our undeletable hard drive.Your masterpiece is stored there.Get hypnotized and it'll sing like a canary.

Or could it be...interesting thought...that you've been incessantly pissed as usual and that in fact you wrote NOTHING ?
Trying to cop out are we, mm?

bittersweet me said...

bugger

la fille mariƩe said...

But the fact that you wrote the 40 000 words is the point, not what the words were.... right?

Angela-la-la said...

Ouch. Dare I say backup?

chopperbomb said...

"Everything is Utterly Fucking Rubbish"
But at least you have my Stag Weekend to look forward to in 5 days time!!!
Also, if it's any concilation (as if) my rude, arrogant Chinese neighbours are currently doing their semi-regular Sunday night kareoke thang!? Actually, I should call it 'shout-eoke' as there's little singing happening. I hate them. I realy fucking hate them. I've had to put the spare sofabed up in the furthest corner of the flat from said neighbours so we can attempt to get some sleep tonight! People suck.

Peach said...

ps, I forgot to tell you Dylan Thomas lost his first (and according to him, his best) draft of Under Milk Wood pissed up in Soho... and didn't drink again til he'd written it all over again

luna said...

You're right,Fweng is decidedly on a par with Dylan Thomas.
Now if this little incident could persuade him to stop drinking...

fwengebola said...

Vi ~ It miraculously JUST DID!!!
Sue ~ Thank you. I should destroy invaluable equipment more often.
Z ~ I think most statisticians would want to look in more depth at the churchgoing = luck vs. the churchavoiding = me relationship.
Or perhaps they shouldn't. I am just a miserable, cynical bastard, and that is what I see.
Peach ~ Or not. But then I'm lucky again!!! Hooray.
Luna ~ Au contraire, it's all back again, and thus it will be finished. And very, very awful.
BM ~ Indeed it was.
LFM ~ Don't 'It's not the winning, it's the taking part' me, thank you. Everyone knows it's the winning.
Ang ~ Backing up is for nerds!
CB ~ That's sort of almost your own post.
Peach ~ Yes, and Large Northern Flatmate is oft fond of reminding me that Jilly Cooper left an entire completed draft of somesuch crap she wrote in the back of a never seen again taxi. So she went home and re-wrote the fucker. Then cracked that disturbing, gap-toothed grin.
Luna ~ I don't drink, compared to, oh, Oliver Reed.