perlmonger (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
perlmonger) wrote2005-01-27 10:50 pm
perlmonger) wrote2005-01-27 10:50 pm
A trying day
The Belgians are playing up again.
Not a lot of people realise that we have Belgians living under our floor; they lurk in the long-abandoned tube station (part of the abortive West Country extension to the Piccadilly line from a couple of decades ago). We think they first arrived here in the early 40's as refugees; certainly, that's their submarine that sits between us and the station, but we've never managed to communicate. Or wanted to, really.
Mostly we just coexist. Them down there, us up here, and only the occasional minor explosion to cause upset. This morning, however, they decided to move the submarine. Gods alone know why: it's rusted to buggery, so even if they did somehow manage to manouver it back into the Avon, it would only sink irretrievably to the bottom, but understanding Flemish troglodite motivations is not really my strongest point.
The point is that their manoeuvrings have played havoc with our carpets. All rucked up and, of course, filled with tunneling cats who pounce onto the pygmy mammoths escaping through the cracks opened in the floor and cause yet more mayhem with our furnishings above. I've spent all day whacking things down with a spade and I'm exhausted. And it's all been for nothing, as the filthy chocolatieres down there have just, this minute, moved the damned submersible back to where it was before.
I've had enough.
I just hope this isn't going to become a regular event; if so, I'm going to make sure I'm well away from Somerset come 27th January next year...
Not a lot of people realise that we have Belgians living under our floor; they lurk in the long-abandoned tube station (part of the abortive West Country extension to the Piccadilly line from a couple of decades ago). We think they first arrived here in the early 40's as refugees; certainly, that's their submarine that sits between us and the station, but we've never managed to communicate. Or wanted to, really.
Mostly we just coexist. Them down there, us up here, and only the occasional minor explosion to cause upset. This morning, however, they decided to move the submarine. Gods alone know why: it's rusted to buggery, so even if they did somehow manage to manouver it back into the Avon, it would only sink irretrievably to the bottom, but understanding Flemish troglodite motivations is not really my strongest point.
The point is that their manoeuvrings have played havoc with our carpets. All rucked up and, of course, filled with tunneling cats who pounce onto the pygmy mammoths escaping through the cracks opened in the floor and cause yet more mayhem with our furnishings above. I've spent all day whacking things down with a spade and I'm exhausted. And it's all been for nothing, as the filthy chocolatieres down there have just, this minute, moved the damned submersible back to where it was before.
I've had enough.
I just hope this isn't going to become a regular event; if so, I'm going to make sure I'm well away from Somerset come 27th January next year...
no subject
We rousted our infestation of tiny, baritone pirate impersonators using similar tactics and they are now safely terrorising the smaller fauna of Stroud. Good riddance to 'em, say we.