Wednesday, 29 February 2012

A Big Trip Out - The Audition

I have something to confess. Don't think bad of me, it was Katie's decision - we have a cleaner. I won't go into the details, that would be a blog all of its own. But I have to admit it so I can relate this tale.

Kristina is from the Ukraine. Since the office has been at the house we have had a regular routine. She doesn't really like having the people at home while she cleans so I keep out of her way.

She opens the front door and shouts up to me [do you own accent here - it's fun] "Hello Daaaniel."

"Hi Kristina."

"How are you?"

"Good. You?"


She then goes about her business like a whirling dervish. When she reaches the office I move, and when the office is free again: "Daaaniel, you can go back to office now." I do as I am told.

We don't have much more to say than this, we're both busy. But then when I first injured my knee and she saw me with my foot up she came in and looked aghast at my situation, put a hand on a hip: "Daaaniel, what have you done?" It was sympathetic and she had an empathetic look on her face but I felt, as I explained, that I had been naughty.

The leg got better, time passed, then I had the operation. Hand on hip, look on face: "Daaaniel..."

So today when she was here and I had to go out for an audition, well she wasn't happy.

"Daaaniel. Where you going?"

"I've got a meeting."

"You go with sticks?" She pointed at my crutches. "Like this?" She gestured at my whole being.

"Yes. [Pause] Sorry." I'm was pleading now to be allowed to leave. She turned back to her dusting, tutting loudly.

I hobbled out, got to the bus stop, got to the audition, went in to the audition and spent 95% of the time explaining about my knee. I am beginning to sympathise with pregnant women who everyone wants to talk to. The audition went ok and then I got the bus home.

As I was sitting on the bus a couple of women got on and stood near me. Near enough for me to hear their conversation as we approached my stop.

"I fekking hate it round here." She was Irish, let's call her Sinead. She was early 50s. Her friend was Russian, let's call her The Friend.

"No, I don't like either."

"It's a shitehole. I told them I don't want to come round here. It stinks."

The bus got to my stop and I got off, the ladies got off behind me and continued their tirade against the area where I live. After a few more steps I could contain myself no longer and so I stopped and turned.

"I'm sorry ladies, I couldn't help overhearing you. Do you mind me asking? As you hate it around here so much, where do you live that is so lovely that in comparison this is a, what did you call it?, a shitehole."

Sinead's chin hit the floor: "Don't you use your filty language at me."

"I'm quoting you."

The Friend "Pervert." Sinead "Get out the way. We've got business here."

I was gobsmacked. I stood and watched as they crossed the road, not using the perfectly good crossing but going ten yards after it, and went in to the church.

I shook my head and looked down at my aching knee. We'd had a big day out, a nice audition in which I had not been too crap, and now we were nearly home and a foul mouthed Russian had called me a pervert.

My knee looked back up at me: "Ok, it happened, can we stop standing around in disgust and get home?" The knee was feeling swollen and a little painful so I did as he had asked.

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