Suitcase Fun

I've been a bit quiet of late haven't I? Oh well, I guess no one really cares and I've had very little to say any way.  I recently got lost in deep thought after seeing a notice for Tap dancing classes on the wall in the kitchen back at the office.  I had a sudden vision of me in the shitty church hall Tap dancing at high speed with an enormous smile on my face.  Tap dancers always have enormous smiles don't they?  People often perceive them as gigantic wankers but hell, they're bloody happy and in my head I was really pleased with myself and having an absolute Tap dancing ball!  I discussed this with my pal Bison and his Tap dancing happiness theory was that Tap dancing originated in 'the olden days' when people knew no better and this was quality entertainment.  I reflected then that if  playing with a hoop and a stick back then was akin to having an X-Box, then Tap dancing must be like having a Wii.  Of course we realised we were talking utter shit but it seemed like a serious historical conversation at the time.  Not the type of historical conversation someone like say, David Mitchell might have, but a historical conversation nonetheless.

Ooh, I forgot - I can do a bit of Samuel Pepys-ing: proper news here;  Elizabeth Taylor kicked the bucket today.  Shit, that reminded me.  As perhaps the crappiest of diarists, I didn't log the huge Earthquake and Tsunami situation which has fucked Japan did I? Rather in-eloquently (is that even a word?) I can say it was REALLY bad shit.  Actually, really REALLY bad shit.  If anyone in the future is reading this (who am I kidding?) there are much better accounts of what happened pretty much ANYWHERE else you'd care to look.  Sigh, I'm so bloody rubbish.

Any hoo, I called this entry 'Suitcase Fun' and here we come to another of my reveries.  Yesterday I had to attend an all day training session on Safeguarding Vulnerable Adults so I had great scope to get lost in thought.  At one point the trainer used the example of a guy who'd ended up allowing bad people (bad is probably a bit of a weak description actually) to live in his flat but they murdered him and put his body in a suitcase! After the initial feelings of 'bloody hell, poor bugger!' I started thinking about the haunted suitcase I took away with me last year.  It was deep and I wondered if I would fit into it (whilst alive).

I was totally gone. I knew I wouldn't be able to zip it up myself so would have to enlist the assistance of housemate and famed Tidiness Nazi Steph to help.  I guessed she would but then would have to have a laugh to herself by walking away and leaving me!  Hell, I could feel the claustrophobia and hear my weakening voice as I tried to bawl at her in a commanding way to demand that she unzip me.  Later on I shared my fears that she would one day soon zip me into an enormous suitcase and would then just leave me in it for hours as I slowly suffocated.  Hell, who knows if suitcases allow air in?  I would guess not and that's why so many dead people end up in them.  Do they leak bodily fluids or allow the stink out?  NO, I don't think they do and that is why it would be bad for me to be completely zipped up in one.  We came to an agreement that should I, at some time in the near future, ask her to assist me in being sealed up in the haunted suitcase, she leaves gap enough for me to breathe through.  I am pleased to announce that this agreement has been reached.

I was then lost in thought again.  I could see the suitcase in front of the tv with just one of my eyes peering out of the gap.  I actually took comfort in this vision.  It sounds lovely. 

...apart from the fact the sodding haunted suitcase would never stand up on it's own.  I'd be mightily pissed off if it fell over and I was unable to see anything.  Is it wrong to fancy Sportacus from Lazy Town?

Travelling with a Dead Woman's Suitcase pt. 2 - Heathrow bound

It's occurred to me that 'Travelling with a Dead Woman's Suitcase' isn't the most pleasant of titles for a travelog but well, that's what happened. My Mother, helpful as ever, said she had a decent spare suitcase I could have and it was great. It wasn't until we'd left that she happened to casually mention the case had belonged to her neighbour's mother.

"Oh, doesn't she want it back?" I asked innocently

"No, she's dead"

"I'VE GOT MY STUFF IN A DEAD WOMAN'S SUITCASE?"

"Oh calm down - it's not like she died IN the case or anything!"

"Yeah, but......well, it's weird. A dead woman went places with her stuff in that case and now some stranger has it. Some random neighbour's daughter who she never even met or anything. It's awful."

"I don't think she ever used it actually"

"Oh great. Some woman, full of hope and joy, bought a suitcase with holidays on her mind and what, she just snuffed it? Oh God, that's even worse. I've stolen the happiness that woman was going to have with that case. Why don't I just poke through her stuff and find her holiday novel and sunglasses. Then I can fully flick 2 fingers up at her. Great, the case is going to be haunted by a woman scorned." (I wept ridiculously)

[SEE HOW I CAN NEVER BE APPEASED ONCE I'VE STARTED?]

Well, in actual fact the case was just a case. It was a shit case as it would never stand up but I suspect its original owner was a bit wobbly on her wheels too. Perhaps that was the legacy - I had a case that knocked everyone else's over whenever they were stacked up. Like a parent at a school Nativity, I would watch from afar (the coach window) as all the cases were taken out and lined up only for mine to forget its words and screw the whole thing up for everyone else.

What the hell AM I talking about? Shut up Sket.

Anyhoo, today. As I mentioned yesterday I was due back at work and it was clear that one person wanted to show that they were angry and were choosing to pointedly ignore me. It makes me laugh to think they thought I'd care, for, let's face it, the fewer people who talk to me, the less I have to talk back to anyone, and in my book that's a result! Yay to the colleague who dropped me in it whilst I was away!

Right, here's the next bit of my holiday journal. It's not very interesting but the good stuff will come up soon enough:

SATURDAY 18TH SEPTEMBER 2010: Nightmare morning. My mother was stressed 'cause her cat Jasper shit and vomited all over the house overnight. Then a number of people turned up at the house to see me before we left AND other people kept calling to wish me a nice holiday/happy forthcoming birthday. My Mom was obsessed she wanted the house to be immaculate before she left and all the visitors were a stressful intrusion for her.

Anyhoo, we were ready in time for the pick up by the tour company (it was a door to door service) and had to go and pick up another couple in the Shirley area of Birmingham. My Mother was at the point of explosion as we drove through Sparkbrook which was an area she knew really well as a youngster and was now like another country (if you get my drift). As she's become older my Mother has become increasingly intolerant towards pretty much everyone. We were taken to The Park Hotel at Heathrow airport ready for tomorrow's departure. The hotel is large but the room quite basic. I felt we got bleedin' ripped off with our dinner at their 'Bravo Bravo' restaurant. Despite allegedly having 20% off, we had a bill of £50 for one roast dinner, a tiny salad and 2 non-alcoholic cocktails. Robbing bastards. I had the salad and as I have shit digestion couldn't eat that much and so felt really bad. We can get a roast dinner for less than 4 quid around here! Back in the room I had a lovely long soak in the bath and we watched CSI shows all night before going to sleep. Unfortunately my Mother had a bit of a panic attack 'cause the windows wouldn't open and she wanted air. I'll admit to being a tad grumpy seeing her scratching at the window. Note to self - must be more tolerant and understanding.