Thursday, 3 May 2007

If only....

....I could google search my room.

I seem to have this unbelievable problem with keeping my bedroom tidy. It's like I subconsciously just shed clothes throughout the day and put new ones on, leaving the old ones all over my floor. And chair. And bed. And desk. Below is not just today's shit. That's just the general shit that's always on my bed because it has no other place to go. At night it gets put on the floor, and in the morning it gets put back on the bed.

The problem is that before me and my housemate moved in, we drew straws to see who would get what room (one is big, one is small). 'Oh aren't I a good friend' I thought. 'At least when I get that huge room it'll be a fair decision' . Unfortunately, of course, I got stuck in the one where there's barely enough room for a hedgehog let alone me and my extensive collection of handbags and shoes. If I'm honest, I kind of hoped that my incessant, prolonged whinging on seeing and moving into the room and humphing 'Argh it's SO SMALL' every 5 minutes would spur some altruistic nature in my housemate, and that she would then say 'No, actually you have a lot more stuff than me, and what with your boyfriend being up here - my double bed is more suitable for you than your 3/4 size one. Lets swap.'

Chance'll be a fine thing.

Instead, I got 'There's space in my wardrobe for some bits if they don't fit in yours...' . Is there?! Ohhhh nice one. Yeah. Grrrreat.

Thus I am stuck in my pokey little hole with enough clothes, books, shoes, bags, coats and general random belongings (water cooler, Happy Feet dancing penguin etc) to stock an Oxfam department store. Think Niagara Falls in your garden pond. Think Sahara desert into Vatican City. Think Beth Ditto into size 6. You get the idea.

As a result, I lose stuff constantly. I have however developed a rather unusual way of searching for things: most people when they lose their cheque book will look in a desk drawer. I start by lifting up my bed.

So what am I to do? I asked the landlord to put up some shelves. He sent me a book shelf. As in a freestanding, heavy wooden unit of shelves. As in where the hell am I going to put that? On that expanse of empty space next to the french windows? Have you ever been upstairs in your own house? Clearly not actually, given that he has omitted to place any form of heating other than 3 storage heaters, all downstairs and all from circa 1930. It's fine - our rooms were kept amply warm by 2 electric heaters, which they failed to explain would cost us the equivalent of feeding a large herd of shire horses for the winter duration.

Thus I am not all that sad to be seeing my time in this house coming to an end. I look forward to a time when my shoes can regain pride of place in their special shoe rack, not under the living room table...when my handbags can have their own wardrobe space, not stuffed into another bag and hung on the back of the door....and when I walk on a carpet I can actually see.

Until then, will someone please tell google to make me my own special search box? "Google House Search'....I can see it now....

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