A House of Mould

AThe fisherman caught the deaf goldfish.

She granted him one wish - 

he wanted a house of gold. 

He got a house of mould

On a soggy, sunless day the caretaker stretched his arms in the tiny little closet he called his office. Something was bothering him today. He saw a television show last night and it was all about the terrible effects of dust on your health. All his life he had been taking such good care of himself and all of a sudden he found out about this secret silent killer. His heart was in turmoil. He had only been working for about a year in the moldy but tidy basement of this building. It was an easy job. Mindless stress-free and despite the dampness of his toilette-sized office, he liked it. If only he had made himself a sandwich, he may have missed the program but now it was too late. The seed of doubt had been planted in his head and he was worried.

But what is it, you may ask, that so disturbed him and why was it particularly dust that he was so worried about?  Well it's all related to the enhancement of technology and the invention of a great machine called 'dryer' (as in washer and dryer), which some of us so casually consider as natural as the fridge. But the technological advances had this little disadvantage: every load of dry clothes generated a massive amount of lint. A terribly dusty furball containing romantic stuff such as dead body cells, bed bugs and cotton bits. So, all normal users adjusted to this glitch in the system and created ducts, leading the dust out of their homes. Well, all but the brilliant architect of Melrose Apartments, we'll call him Mr.Stoopeed. So Mr. Stoopeed decided that all of this dust could get collected in a separate room of our basement and it never had to leave the building. So the days became months, the months - years and the years - a room FULL of DUST! Well, that was namely the dust which bothered our caretaker this morning. So he called the health hazard company and they came down for a check. Yes, they were Stoopeeefied! And what they did? Well, they sealed all the dryer machines off until the problem gets fixed.

Now, my friends, you may like to read more carefully as it's time I stepped into the picture. Yep, here I come. See me struggling down the stairs (6 floors from my flat to the basement and the elevator is broken - lucky?) with a pile of clothes, from which socks hang and my shirts are dragging on the floor. What makes it even better is that I am not alone! I help a little helpless 3-year-old child down the stairs, as I do need company every time I do my laundry. I step in front of the machine, read the notice and scratch my head. "Well, I think. I'll just wash them and hang them in our room - the old Bulgarian way". So I stick the pile of tiny muddy jeans and buggery hankies in the washer and trot up the stairs with my already 'tired' toddler.

Look, it's 45 minutes later and here we come down again. Whoow, the pile of clothes is much heavier when they are wet and when I have to bring them up the stairs. But I'll make it. Here we are. Less 3-4 socks all is here. Hanging -  done! Aah, childhood memories of domestic flee-markedness infest my mind. There is nowhere left to sit, to lay down or to lean now. Clothes - everywhere. A pretty picture. So sophisticated! But it's ok. They should dry quickly.

24 hours later - wet.
48 hours later - wet.
72 hours later - What is that stench? Oh my! I can't even enter the apartment! Everything stinks! May be a skunk made its way in, curled up and hid somewhere and died. Yes. The clothes were dry! Manchester, we owe this to you! But wait, I had another brilliant idea - stuck them stinkers in the closet thinking - aah, they won't smell in a few days... Oh, you should have seen the horror in people's eyes when I was walking down the street the other day. Sami and I had an open corridor of people running away from what could only be described as the Stinkertons coming.

Ha! You wish! I did try to wear my jeans but threw them back in the laundry basket before I threw up on them. And so time passed. My our wardrobes were slowly getting emptier and emptier until finally they were all transferred into the bathroom.

Until today I had a brilliant idea - I'll break the rules! I'll be the rogue! I'll USE the dryers! And I did. But I got news for you. Without ventilation, all you get is an enormous amount of just-as-wet clothes, nicely warmed up for you.

And this brings us to the current situation - again there are clothes all over the apartment. I am sitting here, surrounded by this formidable picture, wearing my favorite (still wet) clothes (as I've noticed that they DO dry up on me), writing. And I'm scared.

Honey, I think we should move!