I used to use my mates for moves. Until the day I nearly died. Yeah you heard that right- nearly died. So my girlfriend broke up with me. No, that’s too nice a way of putting it. She cleared all her stuff out when I was down at the pub with Nigel and Frankie and possibly Simon was there but I’m not really sure. She just packed up and moved. She also left no forwarding address, changed her phone number and possibly her name. I don’t know for sure on that one but some huge rugby type that came round and knocked me into the bushes which, by the way, tore my lucky shirt, kept saying some stuff about staying away from Cheryl and when I asked who the bloody hell Cheryl was, smacked me into the bushes again and said i ought to know my own ex-girlfriend’s name.
Anyway so there I was with no girlfriend and in point of fact, no dishes, the crappy half of a dvd collection, a load of all kinds of rubbish you collect when you’ve been living together for ages -6 weeks in our case, and more importantly an eviction notice for some ridiculous bother about noise and someone burying a cat in the flowerbed (Well of course I buried Mr. Whiskers! Has this man no heart?) So Nigel says there’s room at his place, well not exactly his place because he lives in his parent’s basement. But the good news was the garden shed was free. I just had to move all my stuff and Bob’s your uncle. Naturally I knew I could count on my mates and possibly Simon. So I looked around for boxes and tape and such but there didn’t appear to be any in the flat. So then Frankie says to get them at ASDA or the corner shop and off we go. Apparently everyone recycles now, can you believe it. All the lovely boxes were all chopped up ready to be recycled so we decided to go to the pub and have a think. Before you know it one thing led to another and it was darts and then takeaways after. We should have listened to those blokes who tried to warn us about that Indian and we were down for the count. When we woke up in the morning I realized I had to be moved in a few hours without a thing packed or even boxes. Also Simon had disappeared sometime during the night.
I was lying on the kitchen floor when suddenly inspiration struck! Bin liners! Actually I saw the box on the kitchen table, but still. So I organized Nigel and Frankie with a fistful of bin liners each. They were kind of the cheap sort that you could sort of almost see through on account of my girlfriend Stephanie, NOT Cheryl, being a bit of stickler about not dumping the leftover fish dinner straight into the bin and we were out and I didn’t want to spend more than the price of a pint on bin liners, so I went to the pound shop.
We got stuck in and things were going quite well if I do say so myself with my clothes. Frankie was beavering away with linens-the few Stephanie not Cheryl left but we ran into some unexpected problems with both my tools and the knick knacks. I hated the knick knacks except for my third place trophy for under 5’s snooker and my singing and dancing fish. I don’t care what Simon says it was twice as funny without the head. And my cat. Moggies and bin liners aren’t the best mix even if they are dead and stuffed. I loved my Scooter and his little glass eyes staring at me off the top the kitchen cabinets has always been a comfort. The problem was the taxidermist who was, hard to believe, a total amateur, accidently put quite vicious claws on Scooter. They must have been from a bobcat or maybe a Lynx or something. They kept shredding the bin liner but I finally got Scooter in without any holes. We were pretty proud of ourselves even if we were pretty knackered. There were about 100 bin liners all over the flat, all full of my bits and pieces.
Nigel voted for a bit of a kip but time was flying and I suddenly realized that I had no way to transport all 100 bin liners full of my stuff except Frankie’s scooter and he was an appalling driver. The tube was a no go we knew after the time we tried to carry on a whole load of 99’s to sell outside the Olympics. They were not best pleased when we held up the train getting it all on but they let us go so we wouldn’t delay the train any longer and also because they didn’t know the boxes hadno dry ice which Nigel should have thought of since it was his idea to save the time and make them up ahead of time. Needless to say we had to leg it out of the station as the giant pool of ice cream and little logs of Flake were rolling all over the car. When the door to the car opened, a little ice cream tidal wave came pouring out and people were pulling out cell phones like madmen. The video went viral. Especially the part where that bird slipped and impaled a clown (why is there always a clown) right in the a*** with a stiletto.
The mini-cab we called just drove away without a by your leave when he saw the giant mountain of 100 bin liners we had stacked on the street trying to be helpful and considerate. The black cab rolled his window down and laughed his face off before he drove off. We were down all right but not out. Nigel had this brilliant idea to post all the bin bags to his Mum’s house. We ran down to the corner shop to get 100 sticky labels and stamps. When we got back Simon was just standing around like he’d been there all along, smoking a fag and looking bored. He took a last drag and was just about to flick the end away when we Nigel, Frankie and I all screamed “Noooooooo!” all slow motion and distorted as we saw the end fly through the air to our bin liner (flammable!) mountain. I knocked the ciggie into the street but Frankie and Nigel collided mid-air- really spectacular-r but way louder than it sounds when you’re watching footie. And then they hit the mountain. It teetered and swayed. We thought it would hold then bin liner Armageddon! It was an avalanche and on the very top Scooter came tearing out of his bag and flying right at my head.
I’m not ashamed to say I screamed like a girl as all of his extremely sharp claws embedded themselves in my scalp and I ran up and down the street shrieking, “Get it off! Get it off!” I do think the old lady who fainted was putting it on a bit. It was only a dead cat on my head after all. Maybe it was the blood.
And of course Simon, always rubbish at speaking up in time says, “Why didn’t you use Man and Van? They would have packed you up proper, moved you in a trice all for a great price. You’d be tucked up in the pub by now instead of running around with a bloody cat on your head.” Right. Could have said that yesterday, mate.Then Simon remembered used a man and van in London called Mark who did a great job in the job.
If you ever need a man and van removals service in London you can contact Mark on 07961260625