It is week 4 of living with a stranger whose surname I still can't remember.
It's quite a bizarre experience meeting someone briefly and then deciding you are going to share lives for the next few months. I picked a good one this time though. Well he seems it so far anyway. What I actually mean is that as yet he hasn't left his toenail clippings out for me like the last one did.
No, I'm not joking. Let me set the scene for you. It was a Friday night and former flatmate was away for the weekend and I was absolutely delighted about having the place to myself. I delightedly poured myself a glass of wine and delightedly sat down to watch TV. I should also tell you that my flat is P.O.S.H. So posh you actually get in trouble if other people in the building hear you calling it a flat. It's an apartment don't you know, dahling. It has floor to ceiling windows and at night when you are looking out to a sea of lights you can actually convince yourself you are in Manhattan rather than Manchester. It is also very minimalist - the kind of place that looks untidy when you leave your copy of the Sun lying around. So not the kind of place to leave anything lying around. Especially not things you have cut off from your body. But my flatmate obviously didn't agree because as I delightedly put down my glass of wine on the coffee table there were his toenail clippings.
I've still not got over it. Not sure I ever will. The concierges in my building thought it was absolutely hilarious when I told them. They were giggling like school girls when a few days later they buzzed me on my intercom to tell me that they worked for Toenail Watch and were giving me a one minute toenail warning that toenail guy was in the lift and on his way up to the apartment.
I'm glad someone found it funny.