IT WASN'T MEANT TO BE LIKE THIS...

Christmas proper just about over, and New Year in sight.  We’ve had some of the worst Winter winds ever seen in this fair land, and many folk have been without power – not to mention the flooding.  We just had one comparatively short power cut; that was bad enough.

Anyway, Mother-in-law and kids and grandchildren have all gone home, and it is the day after Boxing Day, a sort of no-mans-land; or in view of the season perhaps I should say neither fish nor fowl, just a great gaping hole in the Yuletide celebrations.  Him indoors, poor sod, has had to go back to work today; was made redundant this year at age 62; now he’s a temp hoping to be taken on permanently so needs to impress.  Needs the money actually.

So just me alone in the house, I thought to myself: ‘Where to start?’  That was an easy one, as I trudged through the house picking up bits of cracker, both alive and dead, and turning my ankle on stray contents of same: (I found the green plastic jumping frogs particularly painful if you have bare feet).

So, floors cleared-ish, tree restored to former glory, discarded chocolate coins scraped off sofa, rugs scrubbed and glass removed where I had the previous night smashed a bottle of sherry, (turned out to be a pretty fair carpet cleaner), I wondered how best to use this precious peaceful period.

In this non-centrally-heated house, we are quite used to the odd draught through elderly non-double-glazed windows; but this year, what with the redundancy, the bankers and the government in general, we plainly cannot afford to heat the air only for it to pop straight through to warm up the garden (which I must say is in a right old mess with fence panels missing, and one of my garden chairs having just been returned from four gardens down); so I resolved to do something about it.  I tracked down the blast of cold air to what is laughingly referred to as ‘the spare bedroom’.  This is not so much a bedroom as a Lumber Room, my daughter having moved out of it several years ago, leaving piles of rubbish and indescribable bits and pieces that I do not even want to think about.

I have never really had time (nor, if I’m honest) the inclination to clear it out, and the black bags of rubbish in there from earlier half-hearted forays seem to multiply on their own over the years, instead of magically disappearing as I had hoped.  And yes I admit I made it worse by bunging every excess piece of kit in there, basically just by leaning in and chucking it.  I did at one time think of putting a notice above the door ‘Abandon hope all ye who enter here’ but it wasn’t really funny, and anyway by now you couldn’t even shut the door for black bags spilling out.

The situation worsened when last year I lost my beloved Dad (in the eternity sense, that is - not hiding in this room), and though well-meaning friends and rellys managed to wrestle away from me much of his personal effects and remove them to the recycle bins or the Charity shops, I managed to salvage many bags, boxes and cases full of what I consider to be treasures.  These of course ended up in this room too, nestling alongside practically the entire material history of my younger daughter’s life; Goodness knows how the bunk beds in there are still standing under the weight they now carry!

Having stood on a stool and peered above the debris into the room, I was just about able to see that the small top window had indeed slipped its moorings and was doing a bit of a ding dong merrily, letting in waves of arctic air. Knowing the catch was faulty, I went downstairs, and had a cuppa to help with tactical planning.  As if by magic, my eyes lighted on a roll of thin wire inherited from Dad.

Wire, scissors, torch and mobile phone in pocket, up I went.  It took a while to clear out what I could from the doorway, stuck lots of it in the bathroom and lined the rest up on the landing (note to self:  ‘Do Not Fall Down Stairs.’)  The only way of getting to the window would be to crowd-surf over the piles of cr.p. I stood on the carefully placed stool, and launched myself onto the first bag.  So far so good, in spite of some unhealthy looking movement from the old bedsprings stacked in there near Dad’s headboard.  Deep breath – onto the next bag and on to the bottom bunk, successfully wrestling off the old TV stored under there.  Climbed from there onto the chest of drawers, and bingo!  I could reach the window. Eventually, I know not how, I managed to wire the errant catch to the big window handle, hoping it would withstand the winds expected later.   Sighing with relief, I body surfed back across the room, leaped out onto the stool and went downstairs to have another cuppa to clear my throat of dust and various other substances inhaled in that hell-hole.

Tea drunk, I went back to replace all the junk now littering the upper part of the house.  Halfway through this operation, I suddenly became aware that a light had come on somewhere in the region of my left elbow – and it was not my torch!  Off came the replaced bags of what I will now refer to as rubbish, and there, shining brightly, was the lamp my Dad had made me as a child – a beautifully carved model of a cart pulled by two oxen, as he had seen on WW2 service in India.  ‘Oh no,’ I thought, ‘That means it’s plugged in, and the point is right at the end of the bunks! Thanks for the warning, Dad.’  So in best engineer fashion, I gave it a yank – and it went out.  This I then realised was not Good but Bad News, as I would now have to investigate whether I had created a fire hazard.

So, back out came the bags.  Over to the bottom bunk again I surfed, kicking the old TV en route.  Cord was wedged behind the bunk, but I managed to follow it round – past the empty point!  Oh Sh.t!  It’s on the old two-pin lighting circuit thoughtfully put in by the people we bought the house from 30 years ago!  WTF is the plug?  I found it behind the chest, quite out of my reach, being ok I admit it, less than 5 foot tall.  Heart pounding, muscles aching, I lay spreadeagled on the mucky bunk. I decided to have another cuppa and gather some equipment

You know the scene by now, out I surfed (once I had untangled my hair from the bedsprings of the top bunk), over the stool, downstairs, tea, back again with several kitchen utensils including a large sharp kitchen knife. .  Suddenly another light came on but this time in my head.  ‘Electricity should not be trifled with!’ Thanks again Dad.  Downstairs again, I balanced on a chair, cleared out the cupboard onto the hall floor and isolated the upstairs lighting circuit.  Felt quite clever actually.

Back upstairs, after another cup of tea, same routine in reverse.  I thought it would be prudent to throw the knife ahead of me in order to avoid disembowelment; this I did and eventually surfed back on to the lower bunk, and lay awhile, musing amidst the disintegrating carrier bags, to get my breath.

When my muscles stopped twitching, I shoved my arm as far as possible through the bars of the bed and round the back of the chest – eventually, fish slice and knife won the day, and the plug came out. ‘Yes!’ I cried triumphantly, ‘I have saved my family, my home and possibly even my neighbourhood from disaster!’

As I sat up to rub my aching shoulder, my longish and still thickish-for-my-age hair got tangled once more in the bunk bed above.  I wiggled my head and tugged.  Nothing.  Just more Ouch.  The more I writhed, the more it stuck.  I decided on one big pull and…Bang!  No, literally Bang.  An aged computer complete with monstrous monitor shot off the top bunk and landed on the pile, completely entombing me in the depths of the bottom bunk.  Hair still firmly plaited in the bedsprings, I decided there was nothing for it but to call for help, thereby admitting my stupidity to all and sundry.  I would ring my daughter, (who would probably not be surprised at this my latest disaster), and tell her to bring scissors and possibly crampons.  Thank goodness I had my phone in my jeans pocket.  Didn’t I?  Well it was there… it must have fallen out during one of my mountaineering expeditions – in fact it may even have fallen out downstairs whilst I was climbing into the hall cupboard.  Oh bugger bugger bugger.

I sat back as best I could whilst suspended from above, and considered my options.  This did not take long, for there were not any.  I must sit and await the Master’s return;  the brave knight would rescue his lady fair in no time at all (as long as his back wasn’t playing up).  It was just a matter of waiting.

So, here I am now, hunched up in the dark on a smelly old bunk, suspended by what’s left of my once luxuriant hair,now probably resembling a used pan scourer.  I can’t even work out what the time is; I can see it’s getting dark but that could just mean another storm – and it gets dark now by about 4 p.m. anyway.  Did I mention the torch had also fallen out of my pocket along with the mobile?  The love of my life was not due to leave work til 5, and would therefore not arrive home until at least six, as the powers-that-be consider this still to be holiday time and are running a weekend bus service.  That’s if he comes home at all.  I now remember we had a few ‘words’ this morning; maybe he’ll run off with that young probation officer he seems so keen on at the office.  Young enough to be his daughter – but he is a very attractive man, with good teeth and a lovely head of hair.  No no I am getting silly now.  Calm down girl.  Could be worse.  Oh it is worse, I really need a wee.  Wish I hadn’t had all that tea…..  And I had such plans for tonight, candlelit dinner for us two, nice bottle of wine to make up for the verbal fisticuffs…. Now he’ll come home to a cold house, lights off upstairs, rubbish all over the hall and landing,  – and did I turn the oven off?  Did I?  But surely I would smell it…It’s not fair.  Oh God. Sod Christmas.

It wasn’t meant to be like this!