A fact to which any travelling contractor will attest is that we all run the gamut of life's oddballs and eccentrics when we check in to the various boarding houses and houseshares that serve as a roof over our heads from Monday to Friday. I recently had an encounter that stretched that particular maxim to the full.
Returning to my farmhouse B&B accommodation the other night, I parked the jalopy in the barn, got out and made my out across the farmyard when a figure emerged from the shadows and strutted swiftly towards me and announced that the Admiral Graf Spee, the WW2 German pocket battleship, had a length of 610 feet and a displacement of 16000 when fully laden.
There was no preamble to this whatsoever, he just launched himself into imparting me with this barrage of nautical facts.
I tried to politely extricate myself from the situation, nodding vigorously with a wan smile on my face as I gradually moved backwards to distance myself from him but he counteracted this by smartly sidestepping closer to me, bringing his heels together with a click that would make any parade ground obergruppenführer proud, until his face was inches from mine and he resumed imbibing me with Graf Spee related trivia.
While I found this behaviour a trifle disturbing, I've discovered that he has a trait that I find far more sinister than his preoccupation with Nazi military hardware; something that has manifested itself on a number of visits to our shared bathroom.
Now, I had always assumed that the landlady was responsible for this as I know that, for a lady at least, it is customary to wipe one's shashee after having "spent a penny" but, from my observations, I have now deduced that this is the work of my co-lodger. After he has had a tinkle and pulled the chain there is always a single piece of lavatory paper stuck in exactly the same position on the inside of the bowl with the same corner folded over by exactly the same amount every time.
It is this degree of fastidiousness coupled with his obsession with Nazi memorabilia that makes me wonder if I am living with a psychopath or whether he is a member of some paramilitary sleeper cell and he is using some bizarre form of semaphore to send out coded messages.
Either way, I'm off to Days Inn at Fleet Services next week.
Returning to my farmhouse B&B accommodation the other night, I parked the jalopy in the barn, got out and made my out across the farmyard when a figure emerged from the shadows and strutted swiftly towards me and announced that the Admiral Graf Spee, the WW2 German pocket battleship, had a length of 610 feet and a displacement of 16000 when fully laden.
There was no preamble to this whatsoever, he just launched himself into imparting me with this barrage of nautical facts.
I tried to politely extricate myself from the situation, nodding vigorously with a wan smile on my face as I gradually moved backwards to distance myself from him but he counteracted this by smartly sidestepping closer to me, bringing his heels together with a click that would make any parade ground obergruppenführer proud, until his face was inches from mine and he resumed imbibing me with Graf Spee related trivia.
While I found this behaviour a trifle disturbing, I've discovered that he has a trait that I find far more sinister than his preoccupation with Nazi military hardware; something that has manifested itself on a number of visits to our shared bathroom.
Now, I had always assumed that the landlady was responsible for this as I know that, for a lady at least, it is customary to wipe one's shashee after having "spent a penny" but, from my observations, I have now deduced that this is the work of my co-lodger. After he has had a tinkle and pulled the chain there is always a single piece of lavatory paper stuck in exactly the same position on the inside of the bowl with the same corner folded over by exactly the same amount every time.
It is this degree of fastidiousness coupled with his obsession with Nazi memorabilia that makes me wonder if I am living with a psychopath or whether he is a member of some paramilitary sleeper cell and he is using some bizarre form of semaphore to send out coded messages.
Either way, I'm off to Days Inn at Fleet Services next week.
Comment