Protect ya neck...

I think it’s coming to the end of the road for me staying in this poky little room I reside in now. It’s been an arduous 5 months, battling with an ignorant, unhygienic flatmate; everything falling apart, including the will to live; and a space I wouldn't even allow battery hens to live in. Not to mention the fact that maybe I have a street gang after my blood.

After a beautiful day having lunch with friends and discussing future show ideas with inspirational people, I came home fatigued and ready for action with my pillow. I was just on the phone to the grandparents, telling them that their best grandson shall be performing at The Royal Opera House and was moments away from uttering the name of the place when I heard a distinct scuttling sound in my garden. After hearing what a rat sounded like scurrying my room from the other day, I knew it was a lot bigger than vermin. My voice trailed off as my nan was asking what was going on through the phone and I heard a loud thrashing on my door. I looked across and saw a young man of African descent covered in blood demanding entry into my room. Being a good Samaritan, I should have let him in and nursed him back to health; but being the precarious little girl I am I screamed and scarpered from my room and burst into my flatmates room. Barely being able to get the words from my mouth, my gorgeous flatmate jumped out of bed and ran straight to my room. I then got my other equally gorgeous flatmate from his room who was already with truncheon in hand (no euphemism) Whilst cusses from the ‘yout’ were being thrown at them left right and centre, they stood there and calmed the young man down whilst I feebly rang the police, barely holding the phone as I was shaking like a vibrator with new batteries. Being too scared to wait in my room as I knew my hunky flatmates were dealing with the situation, I waited for the police outside with a fag in hand wearing only my boxers. To my joy, within minutes I saw several flashing lights, and 3 police cars drove straight up to me. The first police officers came straight over, one female, and one awesomely attractive, young, tall, needed-to-be-broken-in male police officer asked for the direction of the incident. Like a school girl on heat I said ‘In my room’ and could only apologise for the mess, restraining any innuendos as it was not the time or place…

I hid in one of the boys rooms so the young man couldn't see my face to be able to recognise me and chastise me for not bandaging him up and kissing his hand better. Without needing a statement, the police officers bandaged him up, sent him on his way and left the house and out of my life. Naturally I double checked with the officer, whilst showing a bit of leg through my house coat, if there was anything else I could do…. Unfortunately there wasn't so let him on his merry way.

My room is covered in blood, and I refuse to clean it without gloves. There’s surgical equipment still in my back yard, and I am terrified of a repeat of this incident. It turned out he was running away from a rival gang, jumped the fence and saw solace from my lit bedroom window. It was unfortunate that I'm a cold hearted bitch…

After the metropolitan police get so much aggro from society, I think it is only necessary to thank them for being so rapid and dealing with it all so calmly. They were absolutely lovely, and definitely need to be paid more for the shit they do. I also think it is only apt to thank my two beautiful house-mates who stepped in when I was a nervous wreck. It’s wonderful to feel protected in your own home, when potentially it could have been violated in so many horrendous ways. Thank you, you sexy things.

So for me it’s one last cigarette, and to make love to my pillow.

‘Always use protection. Like a baseball bat.’