The perils of grunge

I don’t think my comfort zone is actually that comfortable.

Word of the day: Grufted – dirty; begrimed

Weather: grufted sky

Mood: grufted in the head

Our messroom is disgusting. From the funky smell coming from the fridge, to the mice that run about the kitchen, to the rot in the windows. There has been talk of a new messroom, shiny and beautiful, but nobody believes it will happen.

‘They’ve been promising it for years,’ said Mike, kicking his locker door which had got jammed again. From the kitchen came the sound of Jessica using the pliers to switch off the hot tap. Our promised new messroom will have indoor toilets (no more dead squirrels!) and the chairs won’t stick to you. Our new messroom is the glowing oasis on the horizon, but is it all a mirage?

Then Dan screamed. Apparently he went to pick up his water bottle and found a rat wrapped around it, licking the water off the side of the bottle. I would think rats would have chased away the mice, but apparently the two can live in perfect harmony. How sweet.

Barry came to visit again he turned up loudly cheerful, singing Bring Me Sunshine as he danced around. Then he chatted about his sick mum. I did my best to be sympathetic, because it sounds tough to deal with. He said,

‘You always get my head sorted, you always make me feel better.’ Which was really nice to hear, but then he said to Mike,

‘You see? This is what women are for! This why they’re here. They sort you out, they listen!’

Good to know I have a purpose.