The Flat House

My apologies for such a long time out from writing, I'm hoping to be back to writing more regularly from now so please stay with me and keep reading. This is an old poem I wrote some time ago when a friend moved to a new home that was an odd combination in terms of being the size of a small flat while technically being classed as a house.  

The Flat House 

Warm and snug like a bug being hugged
All neat and tidy hidden under the rug
And despite the early pitfalls you’re finally in!
Perched on your new sofa with a big cheesy grin

No longer do you need a campfire and guitar
To huddle round at night, singing Kumbaya
You can relax and so can I, amenities are go!
How you survived those first nights I’ll never know

For your wise choice of abode, I must thank you dearly
In your heart you always wanted me, clearly
Never a frown or scorn from me when you enter, but a smile
And in return I do hope that you will stay a while

But please look after me as well as can be
I’m in a fragile state from previous tenants you see
My walls have turned all mouldy and green
I couldn’t look myself in the mirror, I was completely obscene

Before you appeared I was struggling with my lot in life
Being neither a flat nor a house leads to some serious strife
The confused struggle soon wears you down
But that’s all behind me, now you’ve come to town

You’ve restored my confidence albeit not my wall
Once again this Flat House can indeed stand tall
I’m beaming with delight inside and out
I want to open my windows and joyously shout

So please lift a glass and make sure it has a coaster
To your exciting new Flat House, let’s raise a toaster
May you be blissfully happy here, it’s long overdue
But with me as your base, you can make your dreams come true

A J Mallen

How Not to Buy a Car

Buying anything just doesn't seem as easy as it used to be. For example over the festive period and beyond I've been trawling Auto Trader, ebay etc looking for a car. Has anyone tried this lately? What a pain! Sure there are plenty of cars in such places but not the right car. You lose days just scanning over the same portfolio of cars until your weary eyes find a beckoning headlight amidst the haze of clapped out tin cans. So you read through the advert carefully. Twice. You're so excited about the prospect of driving this car that the first two attempts were a complete waste of time and none of the details sunk in. You can see yourself in this one. This is it, the car you've been looking for, the pièce de résistance, your raison d'être. Apparently it’s also a French car.

You calmly pick up the phone and make the call to the dealer. No-one is picking up the phone! 'How can this be?' You wonder. A slight panic creeps in and you feel a little trickle of sweat across your brow. The phone continues to ring without anyone answering it as though they’re deliberately trying to make you sweat. They’re doing a good job so far. You check the number. You’d checked it twice already just in case you somehow managed to dial the wrong number in your excitement but low and behold the number is indeed correct. You look once more at the webpage as you begin dialling the number for a second time. You're dialling the right number but for the WRONG CAR! You're mortified. Oh my god how did this happen? Of course now someone has answered the phone. You panic and put on a deep fake voice 'sorry pal got the wrong number' and hang up as quickly as you can before he starts trying to sell you his latest dustbin on wheels. After this saga you eventually manage to call the correct number only to find the car you wanted so badly has been sold just five minutes earlier while you were calling the wrong dealer.

Finally you find a car that you like and that has not yet been sold. Next stop, pay a visit to the dealer and see just how much the camera can lie. If they say that cameras add ten pounds to people, for cars it seems to remove ten years worth of damage. Upon arrival it’s hardly surprising that you’re disappointed and despite asking for the car in the photos, this really is the car that was advertised. All you see however is rust, broken bits, missing bits and bits falling off. All of which shows its true age. And that’s just the sales rep. The car is even worse!

You’re about to leave when the sales rep tells you he has something you might like out back. This doesn’t sound good straight away but you decide to humour him and follow him out back anyway. When he said ‘out back’ he wasn’t kidding as you find yourself in a hot, dusty metallic outback. You can’t see a single thing resembling a working car for miles and you’re in desperate need of water. Yet somehow from under the rubble a vehicle emerges. At first you think it’s a mirage but no, it’s real. It’s a miracle! Behind the wheel of the car slowly chugging towards you, shines the balding head of the rep who now has a big, beaming grin on his face. He’s finally found a mug to buy his prized pile of scrap metal and baked bean tins he’s welded together. Or so he thinks.

Buying a car from some dealers can be like buying drugs from your friendly neighbourhood back alley drug dealer. You never really know what you’re getting until it’s too late. You can be going down a street and your bottom falls out. I decided it’s a chance I’m not willing to take just yet so for now I’m back on the bike. The only tin cans I plan on buying any time soon are the ones from the supermarket. Maybe in a few months I’ll have enough to make my own car.

The Great Mouseketeer

En Garde! The mouse is mightier than the claws. That is at least, in one tale of animal heroism I heard recently. For too long the mouse has been the inferior being, pitted against the fat cats of the world. Well here's a tale that will give hope to mice people everywhere.

A few weeks ago I was engrossed by a tale of this mighty Mouseketeer. My mam has two cats, one of which is all white and used to be the top cat, head poncho of the neighbourhood. No cat would ever dare enter his territory if they valued any of their nine lives. But as the years have gone by the mighty cat has aged and mellowed somewhat and is no longer the tyrant he once was.

And so one fateful day in a kitchen a mouse sneaked in through the back door. It's mission was reconnaissance, to bring back as much food as it could for his very large and ever-growing family. He barely had his nose in the door when he could smell trouble. After poking his head round the corner he was able to detect his awaiting foe easily despite peering under the large hat he was wearing. The cat didn't know quite what to make of this mysterious hat.

Most mice would run a mile when confronted by fur and claws but not this one. Don El Jose Isadera Celianayma Dandis II. For Jose was no longer prepared to bow down to the tyranny of the enemy and was now determined to stand his ground and fight back with all his might. If it meant his own death, so be it.

Poised and waiting, the mouse with his miniature sword was ready to duel against the once powerful king cat of the neighbourhood, his freshly sharpened claws shining as they caught the light and looking ferociously pointy. The nicknamed 'N'o-ay Jose' attempted to clear his throat. Instead of sounding fearsome however, he managed to merely squeak 'Ci senor you're not going to take me alive!'. His notably fake Spanish accent resounded through the kitchen as he emerged from under his oversized sombrero. First impressions were deceiving as this was no longer merely a talking hat but a mouse of deadly destruction. Armed, tailed and dangerous.

The cat made the first move. He moved cautiously, uncertain of the enemy that stood before him. He was right to be cautious. Jose immediately lunged forward with his sword and attempted to pierce the cat's paw. It failed. Instead the sword became an immediate write-off, having snapped in two. Heavily mismatched the mouse fought on. He aggressively lashed out with a right jab and caught the cat flush on the nose. The cat jumped back in disbelief. While the ageing feline was off-balance, the mouse landed another swift blow with a left uppercut. He'd had enough. The cat spun and darted away into cover, defeated and with his pride as battered as his nose felt.

This hero of the Vermin family heritage stood tall on that day and lived to fight another cat. Unfortunately this victory was rather short-lived. Once my mam's other cat discovered the travesty of justice she was not impressed. She was not so fearful of and swiftly ate him alive, sword, sombrero and all. The sword got a little stuck in her throat at first but was quickly dislodged. At least the little fella had some good battles during his illustrious career.

Any creature no matter how great or small can put up a fight and really make a difference. This is a true testament of a never-say-die attitude going a long way against all odds. Quite literally in this case. So keep up your fighting spirit and watch out for sombrero-wearing, sword-wielding, Spanish-speaking vermin!

Self-Assembly Can't Pull Itself Together

Everyone seems to work from home these days don't they? Or at least, most people seem to have some kind of office or study at home. I recently made the decision to join this twenty-first century craze and make my own office in my one bedroom flat. It was certainly a challenge, space being against me, much like gravity, but I would not be defeated. So I set to work, moved furniture, and mountains, threw things out that were of minimal importance such as the sofa and TV and everything that took up floor space, et voila, I had my own office.

A couple of days later I realised something was missing from my newly created home office, which is actually just a remote corner of my tiny living room. I'd have to buy a desk for my computer to go on because at the moment I'm just sitting in my comfy new chair swivelling round and round with this heavy computer tower and monitor perched rather precariously on my lap. It's only going to be a matter of time before the computer gets sick and throws its microchips up all over me and my new chair.

So anyway I went back to the shop and bought a computer desk. I bought this particular one because it seemed simple to put together. The fact it was the cheapest one they had was just a coincedence. It claimed to be self assembly. Does anyone else feel the idea of self assembly is rather misleading? After juggling a bloody heavy and obscure-shaped box containing the computer desk I made it home. I landed inside my front door, planted the box in my living room and waited. Nothing happened. I checked the description in the catalogue again because I was thinking they'd given me the wrong item. Despite having a giant life-like picture of the desk striking an iconic pose on the side of the box, how could I know they didn't mix the boxes up in the warehouse or change the stickers for a laugh? So I checked the description. It definitely said self assembly. I then begin wondering if the box had a secret button I needed to find to activate the self-assembly mechanism. Maybe tickling its soft spot would make it erupt into life, it would jump out of the box, does a few acrobatics and lands with a perfect 10 in the corner of my living room. Still nothing happened. I kicked it and it fell over defiantly. Finally some action. It just lay there mocking me, thinking 'this idiot hasn't got a clue'. Well I had the last laugh. I picked up my hammer and really went to town on it. Smashed it limb from limb. 'Not laughing now are ya, stupid planks of wood' I said aloud with an evil chuckle.

In the end I took it back to the shop. The shop assistant said 'sir you can't return it in that condition'.

I replied 'why not? All I did was give it some encouragement, it's not my fault it couldn't put itself together is it? It said self assembly in the catalogue. You sold me a lazy, non self-assembling, insulting computer desk and I want my money back. I didn't pay good money to be mocked by planks of wood. I get enough of that from my family as it is, they already think I'm as thick as two short planks'. Unable to argue with such reasonable gibbering logic she took the box and refunded me my money and I went on my way.

Later that week I actually did manage to find a self-assembled computer desk. It was free from someone that already had it in their house so I just stole / borrowed it and threw it in the car and took it home. Wouldn't you know it; all wooden tales have a happy ending.

Life in the Fast Chair

Does anyone else wish some items you buy from the shop were just a little bit more conveniently packaged? I for one wish shops like Argos would give you the option of purchasing items ready assembled. There are times when it would make the journey home so much easier. Like the other day I bought a computer chair. It has wheels and I live at the bottom of a hill. I'd already made the trek up the hill to the shop so it would be so easy just to jump on the chair and sail down the hill to my house. The lack of brakes could be a potential worry but I'm sure with the hydraulic buttons I could duck and dive my way past most signs and obstacles. It would be like test driving the chair. If both the chair and I make it home in one piece, well that would be a concern because it would mean I was somehow permanently embedded in the chair, but if we made it home with each of us in one piece then we could call it a success and the chair could be accepted as part of my family. I'd give it a home and make it feel welcome; give it warmth by sitting on it and doing all the family activities that are usually associated with chairs. If it failed the test I'd simply carry its remains back up the hill and claim a refund.

For test driving chairs to become a reality we would first need some of the extra money given to local governments to improve the roads to actually be used to repair the roads, with a little more going towards creating designated chair lanes. The result would be incredible. You could race your neighbour on your new computer chair and it would be the true test of which chair is the best of the best. It would give the expression 'keeping up with the Jones'' a whole new meaning.

One woman had bought one of these chairs that I too was considering buying and wrote a very insightful review. It read 'easy to sit on'. I had to read it twice. I couldn't believe someone would write that about a chair. Easy to sit on? You bought a chair and found it was easy to sit on? Are you kidding? What kind of crazy chairs must she be used to I wondered. Electric chairs maybe? Honestly, the logic of these people worries me. In the end I decided NOT to buy that particular chair and went with one that was really easy to sit on. It was an arm chair that was already in my living room!

I persevered and decided to buy the chair after all. So after a spot of DIY, the chair was ready to go. I jumped on it and with my best push-start, catapulted myself off down the hill towards home. So there I was speeding down the hill on my new computer chair when I saw something shoot past me. Zoom. It was my next door neighbour who had seen me in the shop and decided he too must buy a new computer chair. Only his was the better quality one that happened to be in the sale so cost half the price of mine. He blasted past me. I put my hand on the invisible key stick and moved into 5th gear. I wasn't going to stand or indeed, sit, for that, I needed to beat him. It pains me to say that he won. However while he may have won the race, I had the last laugh. You see, as he went flying past me, he couldn't stop because he'd melted the brakes. Onwards he steamed, across the road and straight over the fence into Mrs Johnson's flowerbeds. She went nuts! Needless to say he had to pay for them which put the price of his chair up significantly higher than mine.

There's a valuable lesson to be learned from this I feel, the next time you go to buy a chair, make sure you test drive it first.

Friday 13th Strikes Again?

Are you superstitious or is do you just blame Friday 13th for everything that goes wrong on that particular day? What is it about Friday 13th that makes all hell break loose for those unfortunate to believe in its mystical powers?

Really though how bad can it be? Well last Friday 13th my day began with a bang. I was woken by the spontaneous combustion of my car. Excellent. Breakfast was a non-event. I didn't have any. I was too worried I'd set my house on fire by burning the toast or something so I chose the safe option. If in doubt, leave breakfast and go out. So I did. Of course I no longer had a car so I had to walk. As I was walked along the street I was greeted by a ladder who was taking up the entire pavement thus forcing me to duck into the dark, shadowy path beneath him. He claimed to be called Larry but I suspect he was maybe under the weather or suffering from concussion because he kept muttering gibberish about being ordered to run up and down the shop all morning.

While I was walking under the ladder a double drain sprang out of nowhere! Much too late for me to avoid it, I was forced to clamber over it. Typically, there wasn't another double drain anywhere for me to counteract this act of pure superstitional madness. All the while I was being stalked by a black cat. I quickly grew suspicious of the cat, and also rather annoyed with it. I tried to kick it but tripped over my untied shoe lace. Upon hitting the ground, I heard the bathroom mirror I'd just bought, shatter beneath me. Immediately afterward I was running to catch a bus and was ran over by a taxi. All that happened before 9.30.

As my soul departed my body and started drifting upwards I remembered I believed in reincarnation. My despair promptly turned to anticipation and excitement as I began wondering what I'd come back to Earth as. I opened my eyes, and just could not believe what I saw. Such an incredible glow pierced my pupils, though I wasn't at school yet so I've no idea how that happened but I found it difficult to fully open my eyes. I thought it must be heaven, or maybe I'd been reincarnated as the casing of a spotlight or something. After a few seconds my eyes opened fully and I saw a very familiar scene. My bubble quickly burst. I couldn't believe my luck. Of all the wonderful things in the world, I'd been reincarnated as myself! To make matters worse I was lying in the road as though I was waiting for another bus after having missed the last one. Of course I could also have have been waiting for another taxi to hit me, I wasn't sure. Luckily I was helped to my feet by common sense and dragged onto the pavement out of danger. Somehow all this drama meant my day ended at 9.30 in the morning. All other memories of that day have vanished without trace. Maybe I was abducted by aliens or maybe the accident / deliberate attempt on my life caused amnesia, I don't remember, it's a lot of maybes and I don't really want to think about being stung by maybes while we're in the month of May.

Whoever said bad luck on Friday 13th is just nonsense should have spent the day in my shoes. They would have been crippled, lost their car to a freak accident, stalked by a black cat, missed their bus to work and hit by a taxi. Then after all that, they would have died and been reincarnated as themselves and forced to live the day all over again. Is there no end to the torture for the superstitious other than locking yourself in a cupboard forever?

Teaching Assistant Goes Back to School

Do all Classroom Assistants get locked in the cupboard or is it just me? Well I suppose I am still only training to become a Teaching Assistant at the moment, maybe that's the difference. So far I love it, except for being locked in the cupboard which isn't quite as much fun. For anyone not clued up, Teaching Assistants or Classroom Assistants are basically support staff for the teachers. To put it simply, we do exactly what we say on the tin. We're actually shipped to schools in tin cans to protect us from being battered and bruised before we arrive. Also it acts as a sound barrier and a bullet-proof force field that blocks out the light and shields our fragile eyes from the horrors of the real world. Once we've been smuggled safely inside, the doors are locked and we're released into the wild. We have our freedom, sort of. At least we're as free as we're ever going to be.

Anyway as I was saying, we Teaching Assistant are beneath the teachers. When I say we're beneath the teachers, I mean that we're sandwiched somewhere between the floor and their shoe. It's not a bad place to be. I can certainly think of worse places. Of course all the teachers in my school are great. I have to say that or they'll lock me in the stationery cupboard again. It's such a boring cupboard too; it never goes anywhere, it's completely stationary. Last time I was in there for three years. Three years! All I had for company was an Irish paperclip called Paddy. He always seemed to be drunk and kept falling off shelves but that's a different story entirely.

By the time I was released from the cupboard I couldn't speak, I couldn't spell my own name. Come to think of it, I didn't even know my own name. To stop them thinking I was a complete idiot I replied instinctively with the first and only thing that came into my head, 'Paddy'. From that day forth I've been known as Paddy. To make matters worse I could barely speak at all. Every time I opened my mouth I blurted out some random, incoherent noises that have never been heard before and will hopefully never be heard again. There are probably top secret decoder teams still trying to decipher those sounds.

After the 'name' incident the teachers thought I was unintelligible and sent me back to Reception. The Receptionist told me there wasn't a space for me there and she was far too busy to speak to me right now so I'd have to go away. Luckily someone came to my rescue and escorted me to the correct class. Three years in a cupboard had done my amazing geography skills no good at all as I discovered the Reception class was at the other end of the school.

I had to learn everything from scratch. Of course I was the oldest kid in the class, being some twenty four years older than the next oldest who was five. The other children would gang up on me and bully me beyond belief. They were monsters. One boy stole my lunch money four times in one week. I only escaped the fifth day because it was a teacher training day so we weren't at school. He must have been the meanest four year old I'd ever seen. I swear he was about seven feet tall. Either his parents were pouring Miracle-Gro on his Shreddies or he was wearing stilts. All I knew was I wasn't going to argue with him. I just reluctantly handed over my money and ran away and hid in a corner.

Finally, here I am today, the finished product of an excellent education system. It was an education system that was not afraid to keep children behind, whether they were failing or not. Last year I finally graduated from Primary school, aged 35. It was a proud day but I'm so happy those days are over. I'm not looking forward to beginning Secondary school though.