Locust

Posted by dulwichmum on Fri 27 April 2007

Before I was married, I rented a super swish bachelor girl flat on Tollgate Drive with my barrister flat mate Katie Bancroft. She thought she taught me everything I knew.

Katie constantly reminded me she had a promising future, if only she could get one of the super boys she worked with to marry her. To Katie’s utter horror, they kept dating the wrong sort of girl… She never liked or approved of James.

“He says he works for Comet for Gods sake,” she jeered.

At one point, much to Katie’s disgust her Australian cousin came to stay with us. Matt was travelling – a backpacker, and said he simply intended to ‘crash’ on our sofa for a couple of days, but he became rather too comfortable for Katie’s refined tastes and days soon ran into months.

Matt was the modern day London equivalent of a locust. Katie and I ate out most days of the week, our fridge was normally bear apart perhaps from a small stick of lemon grass, an apple and an open jar of Pasta Gusto Sauce with fur growing in the lid. With this veritable feast – Matt could add rice and make a stir fry. I am not joking, he was like a human vacuum cleaner. He would shout out to us as we left for work in the morning:

“Bring back bread, milk, pasta and beer” etc.

Once Matt arrived, he seemed to intend to stay forever, punctuating his visit by welcoming passing Antipodean chums to join him on our living room floor. He was a lovely guy, and made himself more than comfortable. I enjoyed his company and sense of humour, but Katie was terribly frustrated, and could not work out a way of politely regaining the use of our living room. I never knew a successful barrister who was inarticulate or lacked the ability to manipulate a situation.

I remember Matt complaining bitterly one evening:

“I am a qualified chiropodist, not a beautician,”

to which I simply informed him that unless he wanted to be a homeless qualified chiropodist – he should damn well get on with my second coat, and further, he was not as far as I was aware – a chef, but he was to cook my supper when he was finished.

Oh how we laughed…

Eventually he moved out (er … escaped). I have found in life, there are many ways to achieve the required outcome. Men really are in my experience – simple creatures. No-one has ever ironed my Eqyptian cotton sheets and pillow cases quite so well as Matt…

(No Ratings Yet)

 Loading ...

Comments: 6 Comments to Read

• 

  Drunk Mummy said,

  Dear Dulwich Mum, it sounds to me like you need to ditch the rather suspect Ana and get Matt back into your house. The kiddies can live on stir fry (so healthy!) and your pedicure can be drying while Matt does the ironing.

• 

  dulwichmum said,

  You know sweetie, I think you could be right! No-one could ever quite ‘plump my cushions’ quite as well as Matt!

• 

  East of Dulwich said,

  Only one woman ever let me paint her toenails…we ended up having a huge row and then she moved to Moscow to become a nightclub promoter. I’m not sure I did such a bad job, having had much childhood practice with Airfix soldiers.

  But every now and again when I have to touch up some enamel, my mind drifts wistfully back…

• 

  AntiScam said,

  Sweet Dulwichmum,

  Oh how I wish I was that Australian podiatrist!

• 

  dulwichmum said,

  Darling Mr East,

  It sounds as though you have had a full and interesting past – I would love to hear the full story, you should put it on your blog!

  Dear Antiscam,

  You really are an incorrigible flirt!

• 

  Anonymous said,

  Dear DM,

  You are awful, but I like you.

Add A Comment

Name (required)

Mail (will not be published) (required)

Website

Notify me of followup comments via e-mail