The Swede and I took down the Christmas decorations this evening. I wanted to leave the snowflakes on the windows - they hide the fact that I haven't washed them, um, ever. "But we have a squeedgie!" Okay... While he was at it he ran a finger over the telly, it came back coated in grime. He started dusting. "Hey, did you see that there is a big crack in the front of the telly here?" Yes. Yes I did. "Any idea how it happened?" Yes. Yes I do. And you do too, you shite. You know, because I shamefacedly told you exactly how it happened.
It was one of those hangovers that you think will never ever go away. I was in the flat on my own, talking to myself and rattling around like a dispossessed zombie, unable to eat, sleep or hold a conversation. There's only one cure for a hangover like that - Elf. All I needed to do to save my soul was to plug the DVD's scart lead into the telly. No big deal. Except that my coordination was fucked. I shuffled over to the telly, hunkered down, picked up the lead, scrabbled ineffectually at the back of the telly and then realised I couldn't quite reach the port. So I tilted it.
And dropped it flat on its face.
I nearly died. I was fragile as is, and this was just enough to tip me over the edge. Teary eyed, I heaved it back up off the floor, sat cross-legged in front of it and frantically stabbed at the buttons on the remote. No joy. Panic... til I realised that the main switch on the front needed pressing. You've never seen someone more relieved to see Midsomer Murders.
"You know I dropped it. I told you that. When I had a hangover. I tried to tilt it and..." (trails off in embarrassment). He laughed. "I was just checking! It's times like these I'm glad I'm a man." "Why?" I asked, "because you wouldn't have started crying?"
"No. Because I wouldn't have tilted the fucking television".
It was one of those hangovers that you think will never ever go away. I was in the flat on my own, talking to myself and rattling around like a dispossessed zombie, unable to eat, sleep or hold a conversation. There's only one cure for a hangover like that - Elf. All I needed to do to save my soul was to plug the DVD's scart lead into the telly. No big deal. Except that my coordination was fucked. I shuffled over to the telly, hunkered down, picked up the lead, scrabbled ineffectually at the back of the telly and then realised I couldn't quite reach the port. So I tilted it.
And dropped it flat on its face.
I nearly died. I was fragile as is, and this was just enough to tip me over the edge. Teary eyed, I heaved it back up off the floor, sat cross-legged in front of it and frantically stabbed at the buttons on the remote. No joy. Panic... til I realised that the main switch on the front needed pressing. You've never seen someone more relieved to see Midsomer Murders.
"You know I dropped it. I told you that. When I had a hangover. I tried to tilt it and..." (trails off in embarrassment). He laughed. "I was just checking! It's times like these I'm glad I'm a man." "Why?" I asked, "because you wouldn't have started crying?"
"No. Because I wouldn't have tilted the fucking television".
