the blonde list

one day, a little while ago...

one day, we were sitting discussing what we'd do if anyone was to break into our house. the road we lived on was notorious for thefts and unsavoury characters and unpleasant behaviour (mostly directed toward students). being out alone after dark was not the wisest of plans for a girl, or even a boy. miss lammas might recall the day adrian had his bottom caressed by a random chick while cycling through the subway adjacent to our dearest london road. however. on this particular day, which was not the day amy spent hours cooking a meal for herself, only to drop it all over the floor as soon as she'd put her food on the plate, we speculated about the what if's. this was also not that day that esther walked outside in her slippers on her way to the video store, nor was it the day lammie asked what the differences between decaffienated and regular coffee were. this was another day entirely, cold, rainy, no doubt fuelled by coffee (the regular kind, lammie) or red wine.

we lived in a tall house, five bedrooms with a rather groovy basement sitting room (groovy until the sofa fell apart and the landlord never quite got round to replacing it). the basement had one window, a none too secure (but fortunately double-glazed) relic from perhaps 1973. none of us was sure. above this basement window lay my room, with an entirely rickety window, and above this again sat amy's room. lots of pink, lots of sparkle, hair all over the floor. picture the scene: five girls in amy's room (those on the floor cushioned by the soft blanket of hair) drinking red wine or coffee, discussing what they might do of something - in fact someone - were to go bump in the night.

personally, i was most worried, since my room would be first port of call and my door didn't lock, for crying out loud. next up brianne's room, which connected to mine through some frail double doors: stay tuned, because these double doors play a starring role in a later blonde adventure. the walls outside our rooms were plastered by some kind of idiot (or medieval torturer), and frequently trails of blood were to be found where unsuspecting housemates and guests had skinned a limb on the sharp wall detail. perhaps an anti-theft device, perhaps the cheapest decorating known to man. however, i digress. naturally, talk soon turned to escape routes, and it is here our full attention must turn to amy. when asked what she might do if marauders ever got in to out house, amy offered a faultless escape plan: she would leg it out the window, quick as a flash. there was but one flaw to her faultless plan, however, which the other girls wasted no time in pointing out to her: amy's room was on the second floor, above a substantial drop with nothing beneath her window but air.

this may also have been the same day that lammie composed her ten minute text, only to delete it without sending it. it might well have been the day esther set fire to the oven gloves, and the day might have ended with amy laughing her candle out.

good, good times.

posted by ep @ 1:02 PM