Sunday sleepy Sunday

End of a week..beginning of a week.
It feels both good and bad.
It would feel a lot better if I could have got some decent sleep, but this is a quick account of what happened last night in bevendean crescent…
First of all, Polish housemate comes home from work, and as it is in her custom, she starts banging cupboards to prepare some food, before running up the stairs, slamming the bathroom door and take a shower; after that, she slams the door open, slams it closed, and goes to her room, which happens to be next to mine, and bangs it closed. She then drops a glass, so she runs out of the room to the bathroom, and I will not talk of the next ten minutes…
The night proceeds uneventfully…
Then, suddenly, somebody starts knocking on the door. Not once. Not twice. He bangs on the doors, drums on the window, knocks more violently on the door, for what happens to be an eternity, at least judging from my beating heart. Polish housemate gets up, but doesn’t intervene.
Then the brainless idiot (from now on he will simply be B.I.) starts calling for silent housemate. Not once. Not twice. He bangs on the door and shouts her name. shame that silent housemate’s room is on the other side of the house…Frightened, fogged Peggy opens the window and says that silent housemate is not there. “Really?”, says puzzled B.I. And that’s when silent housemate runs downs the stairs, opens the doors, and leads the way to her room heavily swearing at B.I. for the next half hour. Peggy goes back to sleep.
It’s almost light outside when Polish housemate gets up and starts preparing to go out. she runs down the stairs, bangs every cupboard in the kitchen to make some breakfast, slams the dishes in the sink, runs back upstairs to get ready in the bathroom, slams more doors to go from the bathroom to the bedroom and back a few times, then she runs downstairs, slams open the door, slams closed the door…then slams it open again, runs upstairs and slams open her door, bangs it closed, rushes downstairs, slams open, slams closed. Silence returns.
It’s now past seven o’clock, and Peggy lies in her bed, sleepless. This is the time I usually walk silently out of the door, heading for my work, after a silent breakfast, a silent-as-possible preparation in the bathroom (in spite of my love for morning showers I think that it’s not nice to wake housemates up, so I shower in the evening), a silent tidy-up of the bedroom, whose door is opened and closed most carefully. So, it’s seven o’clock on a crisp, clean morning, and Peggy decides to get up, and after preparing she walks to church, where she almost falls asleep every time the priest allows to sit. She then walks to Western road, buys a duvet cover, a vegetable curry for lunch, and catches the bus, where her patience after a sleepless night is tried all the way to her stop, by a couple of brainless idiots sitting behind her (this city is apparently packed with idiots, and they usually appear after a sleepless night or a hard day), by a lovely dog who is very interested in my hands and in my bedsheets, by a guy shouting and laughing on the phone, by slow traffic lights…People, my patience is really improving, after being tested so much.
Peggy gets home, has a delicious lunch, and heads for the bed, Agatha Christie…The afternoon, a lovely, sunny, crisp afternoon, is spent sleeping, and working on internet before going to Ian’s house for some pasta and a chat.
Once home, noisy housemate on drugs is cooking toad-in-the-hole, and she asks me if I have seen a jar of gravy anywhere. “Ehm, no, I don’t think so”, I say, and I expect to see my nose growing like Pinocchio’s…because two weeks ago, exasperated by the mess in the kitchen, I started cleaning around, randomly, and the three shelves packed with dusty sticky jars were promptly thrown in the bin, no second thoughts…among which, I remember well, a half-full jar of Bisto…Oops.
Oh, well.

Have a good week, everybody.