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Renting is a bit shit

  Sun 2nd December 2018

Friday evening I was at the Town Hall, "showing" as one says in the drinks trade, some beers at a local wine company's Christmas tasting. It's a great gig. I get paid expenses which more than cover my hotel, and I get to sample a dozen uncommon beers. It's a dressy night, popular with women around my age.

Several weeks ago, Fitbit expressed an interest in coming, and surprised me by asking if she could stay in my hotel room afterwards, adding quickly the expected stipulation. "Don't worry Fitbit, it'll be like sleeping with your little sister."

I rang the organiser. It had long since sold out, and there was a waiting list, but he agreed to let her in if we pretended that she was helping me with the stall. He couldn't issue her a ticket as he'd sold the quota that would keep him within the fire regulations.

Five days ago, she texted (not even rang) to tell me that she'd "forgotten" that her ex-sister-in-law had invited her to a "pamper night" in a hotel near Skipton. "I'm gutted that I won't see you tonight," she texted. No, you're not love, you've chosen not to see me.

I told her that I was a bit pissed off with her, given the efforts I'd made to get her in, but she suggested meeting up the following day at 2.00 in The Shipbuilder's Armpit. At 2.40, she texted "be right there love!" And that's the last I've heard from her, my calls and texts going unanswered.

It was dosing day, and I could feel something lovely waiting to be welcomed in, which wasn't going to happen in the Shipbuilder's Armpit, with the objectionable ex-copper who thinks he still rules his bailiwick, now shrunken to a banquette in a cheap pub. He always tells me that a vacant place anywhere near him is taken. "No you can't sit there, they're coming back." "Sit there looby," overuled his friend.

At 4.00, I gave up, went to The Fur Coat and No Knickers Arms and read The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock and the Preludes. But first, I wanted to state my case to Fitbit.

"Fitbit. This is the second time in two days that you've let me down. I put a great deal of effort into coming to see you, but I'm starting to feel like a sucker. Little reliable looby. If we bump into each other when I'm in Lancaster I would happily go out for a drink with you, but I am not making any more arrangements to see you."


I texted Wendy and Kitty: "Oh Wendy/Kitty, you must try this. It makes everything gentle and lovely. So wish you were here! xxx "

It was raining and I had the urge for the raw vegetables for which LSD serves as a gateway drug. I bought a cauliflower, a red pepper, some cherry tomatoes and a few dried apricots for an al fresco tea. I bumped into one of my oldest friends in Lancaster, as I was walking along, chomping on cauliflower florets like sweets.

Then the something lovely thing happened: Wendy rang. Her and Kitty had half an hour to spare and wondered if I was in town. We met in the arthouse cinema's bar, where I had soda water: not for show, just because I didn't fancy a drink.

Kitty looked worn out with having to carry a very overloaded plate for a long time now -- a mourning and needy dad, a recalcitrant teenage daughter and a poorly-paid job in "education" that is much nearer social work of a sometimes distressing kind. Wendy was witty, pisstaking and gorgeous. Wendy had to go and I had another ten minutes or so with Kitty. I told Kitty, honestly, that I love and care for her.

That night I was staying in an airbnb in Carnforth -- a town utterly miserable and without culture. I so wanted her to invite me back for an hour or so, and later found out that they did indeed spend the evening together with a few bottles of wine, careful in the cinema bar to avoid telling me of such plans; but it's too early in my probation to expect anything else. It puts a hurtful twist into my stomach, felt all the more keenly because of their evading telling me until I was safely away in my room in Carnforth.


I paid my rent the other day: £450 (for a room, not a flat, let alone a house). On Monday my landlady texted me, asking me to buy some toilet rolls, "as we're out."

"I can certainly buy some toilet rolls, but I'm in Lancaster until the weekend, and aren't toilet rolls included in the rent?"

"No they're not. We'll get some." Can't you feel the petulance?

8 comments »

8 comments

Comment from: daisyfae [Visitor]

Glad to hear that Kitty and Wendy have made an overture and spent a little time with you - baby steps, but very important! As for Fitbit? You handled that well - no excuse for that sort of disrespect to you! i’ve worked a few ale events in my time, and know how strict they can be on attendance!

Mon 3rd December 2018 @ 02:28 Reply to this comment
Comment from: [Member]

Thanks DF. I’ve created this horrible situation in which they feel they have to keep me at arm’s length for a while. But never mind, things are inching along in the right firection again.

Fitbit texted last night to say “It’s a long story,” one which she hasn’t told me.

Mon 3rd December 2018 @ 08:33 Reply to this comment

Is she not telling the truth about the prior commitment? Some folks are incapable of juggling a schedule. But if she’s being cavalier with your friendship then, yes, hit the eject button.

It may have been a hurtful twist but I consider it progress. You have to pay penance for your prior behavior. Sorry.

You find the most interesting places to live in. My residences have been boring and regular in comparison.

Mon 3rd December 2018 @ 11:53 Reply to this comment
Comment from: looby [Visitor]

No she wasn’t lying about it. Has she never heard of a diary?

Yes, you’re quite right. I made my bed, now I’m laying on it.

In terms of the house, I’d rather have somewhere boring at the moment. I’ll ask her what else I am expected to contribute towards so that we’re clear about what it. Fucking cheek!

Mon 3rd December 2018 @ 15:07 Reply to this comment
Comment from: 63mago [Visitor]

I think Mr Chinasky saied once that a man can survive ages without sexual intercourse but only week without proper bowel movement.
So it’s a matter of life & death.

Tue 4th December 2018 @ 22:15 Reply to this comment
Comment from: looby [Visitor]

My problem is that as an alcoholic, I suffer from many improper bowel movements.

Wed 5th December 2018 @ 00:01 You are currently replying to this comment
Comment from: Jonathan [Visitor]

The landlady’s petulance.. yes I can feel it, like an actual slap in the face! These fuckers.. come the revolution, etc.

On the positive side though… ‘The Landlady’s Petulance’. What a great name for the slim Eastern European style novel you are clearly destined to produce at some point and to deafening critical acclaim. You can have that, for the price of a pint.

Fri 7th December 2018 @ 23:32 Reply to this comment
Comment from: kono [Visitor]

The less expectations you have of people the better off you’ll be, hence i’d expect very little from the Fitbit and rightly return the favor not with any malice just as a way of educating the self-centered of the world…

And Dosing Day sounds marvelous, seems like there should be a mandatory dosing day every fortnight or so, the world would be a better place, though i’m curious about this craving for veggies, i’ve dosed i don’t know how many times (easily in the hundreds) and not once did i want raw vegetables, i wondering what i missed ;)

Sun 9th December 2018 @ 14:38 Reply to this comment


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looby, n.; pl. loobies. A lout; an awkward, stupid, clownish person


M / 54 / Bristol

"Looby is a left-wing intellectual who is obsessed with a) women's clothes and b) tits." -- Joy of Bex.

WLTM literate woman, 40-65. Must have nice tits, a PhD, and an mdma factory in the shed, although the first on its own will do in the short term.


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