Posts Tagged ‘lid’

I’ve got a confession to make

I should have spoken about this years ago. It’s been weighing on my mind and it’s time to finally just say it.

When I was 19, I went to university in Glasgow for a year. I was one of those excitable students who joined every club and society going and spent many evenings practising strange sports or discussing books no-one had heard of. I was a member of the Ultimate Frisbee club, the Glasgow University Skydive Club, etc etc etc.

Oddly enough, though, I wasn’t that close to the three girls I lived with. In between all the societies and fun, I was quite studious so didn’t invite interaction when I was in the flat because I was mostly in my room, writing essays and what have you. This confession hinges on that fact.

Now I don’t remember exactly how it went but I was cooking something in a saucepan one evening when no-one else was home and didn’t have a lid so I looked into the big drawer where two of the other girls kept their stuff together. Bingo! They had a lid! I whipped it off, put it on my pan and proceeded to make dinner. Afterwards, I washed up the saucepan and lid and must have forgotten it wasn’t mine and put it away in my drawer.

When the two girls who shared the big drawer next went to cook something in a saucepan, they obviously noticed the missing lid. There was a big hunt for the lid and if they ever looked in my cupboard, they will have just seen my saucepan and a lid and not realised it was their lid.

I didn’t realise any of this was going on (because I was busy being antisocial, remember?) and had long forgotten about the lid. About a week later, I heard them talking about it but it had gone too far by that point. It had turned into an apartment-block-wide search for the lid and conspiracy theories abounded. Because of my antisocialness, I also didn’t feel relaxed and friendly enough to go, “O, I’m so sorry. That was me last week. Here you go, have it back. My bad!”

So I listened to them talk about The Missing Lid and went, “Hmm, yeh. That is wierd. Where can it be?” All the while The Missing Lid burned a hole in my cupboard and I dreaded being found out.

All that week, I listened at my door until I finally found a moment when they were all out. I scurried into the kitchen, took the lid from my pan and put it back in it’s rightful place in their drawer.

A few nights later, the next time they were using a saucepan, they discovered the lid and were astounded. How had it found it’s way back in to the drawer? As no-one else apart from us four could get in the flat, and we all appeared to be as confused as anyone by the returned lid, there was only one other person with access to the flats. In each block, there was one student representative, who was there for emergencies, etc, and had keys to all the flats. His name was Anand.

It had to be Anand. It had to be. There was no other explanation. None.

By total coincidence, a few days later, the cleaner must have left the hoover in the end cupboard in our flat then come and got it a few days later. Because the girls had checked the end cupboard when looking for The Missing Lid and seen the hoover, then went to cupboard for something else a few days later and noticed it had gone, they concluded it was the same person who had stolen, then replaced, The Missing Lid.

This coincidence saved me. It looked like the work of Anand yet again – sneaking in without a trace and simply taking or replacing things to confuse us. Or, we concluded, to use for himself. He borrowed the saucepan lid to make his dinner and then hoovered up after making a bit of a mess.

This went on for the whole year. They’d joke about Anand. If someone left a book or their cutlery out in the kitchen, we’d say “Oo, you’d better put that away in case Anand comes round tonight to borrow them!”

And I played along. I laughed and joked and made up a few of my own. In fact, considering I have lots of memories of being alone in my room writing essays or studying, joking about the Anand thing is one of the few memories I have of actually coming out of my room to socialise with the other girls.

But it was all lies, readers! All lies! It was me! I took the lid! Me! It was my fault! I took the lid and put it in my cupboard by accident and then it was too late! It wasn’t Anand. Poor Anand was just a good guy doing his student rep thing.

I’ve carried that secret with me for 9 years and never told a soul.

It was time.

Parcels, portals and toilet flush buttons

I know, I know. It’s been a while since I reported back on the latest Chat magazine. Well, here it is. You know I never let you go too long without doing one.

First up, there’s the photos page. Well, actually, before that there’s a real life story which has a shock factor of 10! That’s right! A ten. Very rarely will you get tens. Usually they do a 9.8 or something like that. Not usually a ten. So you know that’s big stuff.

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Now to the photos page. There’s a photo of two pregnant women in the same top, the caption basically says, here’s us in the same top. Great. Another photo is a lady reading Fifty Shades of Grey. And again, that’s pretty much it. What a fascinating photo, thanks for sharing.

The tips page is quite good today. The best one is probably the one which says that if you have a fancy perfume bottle lid, don’t throw it away when you’ve finished the perfume, attach it to the toilet flush button….! This doesn’t make sense on so many levels. Let me show you.

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So on the before pic, you can see that it’s one of those push-in type things. There’s nothing sticking out from it. So what did she ‘attach’ the perfume lid to. And also, all she’s really done, I think, is cover up the toilet flush button. Because now you can’t press it, because there’s a big flowery thing attached to it.

The letters page is pretty good this week. There’s a picture of a baby with a shocked look on its face. There’s nothing wrong with the photo. It’s just that that’s all it is. And that’s the photo of the week….

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They must not be getting a lot of entries to this photo of the week competition….

Then there’s a bolognese sauce from a jar competition thing. They review three and tell you their favourite, which is the Sacla Dallaglio bolognese sauce. God forbid, we might suggest one makes their dinner themselves… No! Food from a jar! That’s the way forward!

Then there’s the obligatory I-used-to-be-fat-then-I-lost-weight story. Then an I-met-a-man-on-the-internet-now-we’re-getting-but-we’ve-never-met story.

Then comes the good section. The psychic section. The first story in this section is about a woman who moved into a haunted house. The proof that it was haunted? Her daughter got locked in the bathroom one day. Obviously a ghost. Obviously. No question about it.

She realised what was going on, an evil portal. Of course. So she decides to close it. You know, as one does. She gathered her archangels around her, are you ready for the good bit? Her archangels… Gabriel….. Michael…. Raphael… And METATRON! Yes. Really. Metatron. Her archangel, Metatron. I’m glad he was there for her. Phew!

Then we have the Lucky Key. This is always amazing. I touch it and good things will happen apparently. To legitimise this Lucky Key thing, there are little stories from people who touched the key and great things happened to them. Now I’m not certain what’s going on here. Have they touched the key and immediately something great happens. Or do they touch it on Thursday and by Sunday, they’ve had a bit of luck? Because I don’t think you can really say it’s the key then, can you?

When I touched the key this morning, within five minutes I got a little note through the door from the post man saying I needed to go and pick something up from the post office because it had been posted without the proper amount of stamps on it. So I need to give them £1.50 for the postage if I want my parcel.

Is that lucky? Really? Should I tell Chat about it and see if they print my story in next week’s magazine? Maybe I will. Watch this space to see if I get printed! It will say:

Laura from London got a note from the postman saying she needed to pay £1.50 to pick up her parcel, all thanks to the Lucky Key!