Too boring to blog
Maybe I should tell you a horror story about my past. Have I told you about the stabbing in our squat?
There was a couple from Newcastle upon Tyne who moved into the back room. They took a lot of downers and drank a lot of cider, and had regular physical and verbal fights. It was a noisy house anyway and it sort of blended in until one night there was a massive row and He went after Her with a carving knife. She managed to escape and ran into the nearest room, H's room, and the two of them barricaded themselves in with TG, the house Bob Dylan, with Him bashing the door with a hammer in his left had and the knife in his right.
I think my definition of vulnerability has always been, since then, standing on the landing in my pyjamas with a maniac doing that downstairs, no telephone contact with the outside world and living in a house full of outlaws.
Anyway, TG opened the door suddenly and He fell into the room, slicing TG's cheek as he fell.
They managed to overpower him and disarm him, get the police, and restore a bit of peace to the house. She refused to testify against Him, so we threw them out- it was too scary to wait to see what happened the next time they fought.
There were funny things too. My room was next to the bathroom, which consisted of a toilet and a sink with a cold tap; somehow the lever on the toilet picked up an electircal charge (I think it must have leaked on to the wires) and the first evening it happened, one-by-one you could hear the house dwellers doing their business, sighing, and then yelping 'F*CK!!!' as they grabbed the handle to flush with unprotected hands, getting a strong electric shock in the process.
We did put a sign up, but of course there was no lightbulb, was there? Someone had nicked it for their room.