Tonight gave me a second power cut in a few months. I literally cannot remember a power cut in my adult life, which is not to say there weren’t any, before these two. The last, which I may or may not have thrilled you with, was in the day when I was off work. It was a real shit to not have the telly or the internet for an hour – or water. I got through it because, maybe, I am a kind of hero.
This p-cut, as the hip-hop crowd calls it, came at an all together more challenging time. It was about 11…PM…so it was dark and I had a hangover and I was tired. I also had a wash on (I don’t mean I had a video of someone getting washed on¹ – I mean the washing machine was half-way through a cycle). Also, like the time before, the water went with the electricity. What is that all about? I didn’t realise we had electric water in the flat; I should get some batteries in to power it in the next p-cut.
Fortunately in situations like this I am in THE ZONE. I certainly do not suffer from my own idiocy and lack of memory. I certainly didn’t walk into the living room door four or five times: the living room door is normally open, open status maintained by a door stop. I didn’t keep allowing the door to shut after I had walked into it, realised opened it and walked through it – allowing it to remain shut for me to walk into again. I didn’t do that.
I also didn’t drag a metal chair into the hall to investigate the fuse box² and leave it there. I also didn’t fall over this chair several times – just after getting through the door at the second attempt. Hands up who hopes they are trapped with me in the next power cut they experience.
Despite the none humiliation of continually walking into objects/doors, of whose presence I had much evidence in my recent history, there was something slightly romantic about being trapped in the pitch black without any power. Admittedly the romance was mainly provided by my laptop (which was short-lived – without a wireless router a laptop is about as much use as a statue of a cow sculpted entirely from frozen piss), my iPhone (better: allowed me to google ‘power cut’, ‘what to do in a power cut’ , ‘water cut’ and ‘hot chicks dressed as tinned soup’ and update my Facebook and Twitter thanks to 3G internet) and my iPad (read a New Yorker profile of Lena Dunham on Instapaper – which confusingly on my iPad is dated 16 November 2012 and on the website, as I type this, as 15 November 2010: I am certain it is not from the former date and its content make it impossible to be the latter).
Ahh… just like the romance of power cuts when I was little..just with expensive electronic gadgets that wouldn’t be dreamed of for another 20 years. But in a way was I not better off as that wide eyed (goggle-eyed according to other children, or ‘like E.T. from the film E.T.- The Extra Terrestrial) young lad reading Roy of The Rovers by torchlight? No, no I wasn’t I was better off as an adult with cool things. If you think that I was better off as the child then you are the kind of person who cries at John Lewis adverts you prick.
¹Note to self: investigate commercial availability of ‘people getting washed pornography’; if it doesn’t exist – research financial viability of creating it; if it does exist – buy some.
²What was I hoping to achieve here? I just stared at it blankly, via the light off my phone. I don’t possess advanced, intermediary or beginners electrical skills. I am a useless shell of a man with no skills or redeeming qualities on any level. I could not see a large red button with ‘Press to make electricity come back on’ written above it and so realised the folly of my ascent; I climbed down a broken, if refreshingly self-aware, man.