Nat had arrived a week before I did and therefore got the pick of the mattresses. It may not sound like much but such matters can become a very big deal in a share house. You see, hers was an innerspring job of unquestionable quality. Mine on the other hand was a piece of foam.
Although a piece of foam is a far too shallow a description. It was a Genetic Scientist's wet dream, a life force of its own, a repository of tales in desperate need of a mouth. Ah, the samples that could be taken from one square foot of that rubber. It had a strange brown spot that I chose to ignore and although hard to believe, it had actually sprouted hair. Not a full head of hair, but it did have an impressive array of random strands that, with a determination pulled from somewhere deep within, had found their way from numerous skulls into it's very structure. Placing your head on its spongy surface and looking across its face you got a glimpse into the lives of the hordes of travellers who had laid their weary heads on its spongy exterior. Beer stained and putrid, and of a color that can be only be described as cat crap tan, this berth had character. Not a feature that was in demand in a mattress but a feature that was undeniable all the same.
Bugger being a fly on the wall when you can be a mattress on the floor of a share house. What yarns it could spin. Drunken one night stands, hungover Sunday afternoon naps, random empty house self pleasing actions. I could go on, but I wont, I think you get the picture. The mattress sat on some decidedly sixties carpet that, in its day had probably seen even more, but that thought gives me a headache, so lets move on.
I had no intention of hanging at Hannen Road for much more than a week. I'd seen horror documentaries and read numerous accounts of Australian share house ways. So as a twenty nine year old with not much more to show for his life than a pair of skis, a surfboard and some fairly impressive photo albums, I was keen to settle into at least an iota of normality and get on with it.
It was my fourth day at Hannen Road and I was still no closer to finding a job. Although, in the job markets defence, I hadn't yet tried. So with the rent being ridiculously low and my reluctance to embrace employment with open arms a harsh reality, I indisputably had very little say in the matter.
The house was empty for most of the day. Kind of surprising really, that of the nine or so occupants I was the only one without a job. Not that I was overly employable, it's just that out of eight Aussies and a Pom in London, you would kind of expect that there would be at least a pair of you doing the Ricki Lake, Jerry Springer shuffle.
In the house we had a psychologisty type, a plumber, an aerobics instructor, a Teddy bear shop retailer, a nurse, a travel consultant and an accountant to name but the permanents. Kind of handy if you're messed up, unfit, unwell and a doctor recommends that you need a holiday with a teddy bear, if - upon closer inspection - your finances can handle it.
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