When I last went to visit my parents, they entrusted to me a set of bookshelves and a beanbag, to pass on to my brother. All well and good, surely, as he only lives across the city from me.
So, the other day my brother gets in touch asking if we want to go to the cinema. We arrange that we will see The Corpse Bride and plan for Tuesday - yesterday - evening.
Alison and I potter off in the car with the bookshelves and beanbag, and arrive at his house. We ring the doorbell and are first asked if we are trick or treaters... a day late. Strange. We say no, and a girl opens the door. We ask for Michael, and are told that no Michael lives at that house, and indeed the girls moved in back in July and no Michael has lived there since then, nor was there a Michael among the group that lived there previously.
At this point I feel as though I'm in a sitcom, or perhaps on some weird hallucinogenic drugs. I'm in the hallway of someone's house, carrying a set of bookshelves, while my wife expertly wields a beanbag, talking to a girl who insists that my brother does not and has never lived at this house, which I am convinced I have picked him up from twice, all the while being stared at like I'm insane by more girls in the kitchen whose supper I have disturbed.
So, we left, carrying our beanbag and bookshelves behind us.
Later investigation revealed that Michael had moved house 6 weeks ago, but this news had clearly never reached me, and it wouldn't suprise me if people hadn't known he'd lived there - he was hardly around what with work and sleeping all day.
Well, there's a story that's probably not really all that funny. In more amusing news, Chloe the kitten fell in the bath the other day and had to run off and hide under the bed and clean all the water off herself. Stupid cat.
