My life has come to this. I'm up at twenty past six in the morning having not slept and why? Not because I'm banging girl dem, pissed out of my head or enjoying a nice night of hilarity and food, no, oh no. It's because I'm having a fight with the washing machine. I must give you the back story of the last few days though.
Since I last updated I've moved in with Liz and this place is all well and good. I have a lovely little attic room which makes me feel right at home and I've spent a great deal of time chilling in the living room doing not much at all. Apart from rush around Manchester after Vietnamese, argue with landlords, sort out standing orders, apply desperately for essay extensions, sort out a malfunctioning laptop and stock up on warm clothes for my trip to Hamburg. It's minus twenty over there, apparently.
Today involved my second lecture of the new year which was very interesting, all about building walls through randomness - not really sure where we were going with that, but eventually shouted out some keywords, 'knowledge' and 'experience', and got the seminar back on track through utter chance. Then I stomped about in the slush for a bit, and eventually bought a scarf, a new coat and various other travelling essentials such as this sexy t-shirt. It'll be next season's must-have, and I have-it-now, making me the coolest pre-G in town.
Then we came home via my old flat where I passed the keys on at last, although the guy is still stuck in Vietnam, meaning I passed them onto the guy's girlfriend.
Got some food which turned out to be pretty much inedible due to the lack of a baking tray - they spent Xmas locked in the room of Liz Two, who gets back last out of all of us. So I spend the evening on The Internet, looking at various things, such as the :I face, demonstrated here by Liz One, the ugliest baby in the world that's not actually a Harlequin, and how we should treat babies, in direct contrast to my views on the aforementioned two.
Anyway, many hours later we ended up running around the house looking for Liz's passport, printing off flight and coach details, checking in for the flight and generally packing and going mad. After a while I realised I had no clean boxers due to Gross Incompetence, and so started my battle with the washing machine.
I shoved everything in it, closed the door and the bastard thing just flashed its red light at me. I slammed the door harder and nothing. I leant my weight against it. Nothing. I tried to kick it in hard. Nothing. I went on a Rocky-esque training run around the area to get into training for this great fight. Basically imagine me in place of the guy in this video and transport the action to the snowy streets of darkest Moss Side. Essentially - put it into this video. Any volunteers to actually film me doing one of these at any point? So I came back home and used my new found skills. Nothing. Went a bit karate kid on it. Nothing. Eventually sort of wiggled it into place and tried to slot it gently as far back as it'd go. Brains over brawn. How sly, I thought. Nothing. So I pressed a random button on the console and the flashing light stopped and the process began.
Ha. Havvat thee, washing machine.
And so, the song of the day is Rotersand – Exterminate Annihilate Destroy. CHOON BLUD.
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