Ha ha! Evil god of bathroom lightbulbs. I have thwarted your plans.

Ner ner ner ner ner.

The god of bathroom lightbulbs has hated me for a few years now. I'm assuming it's a god, and not a goddess because of the meanness. What would a goddess of bathroom lightbulbs have against me? It's not like I slept with her girlfriend or something.

Unless, maybe I did? Being incorporeal, but having the power to watch over everyone all the time, gods and goddess must start to fantasise about certain people they're looking down on. Perhaps the goddess of bathroom lightbulbs had built up this whole fantasy relationship in her head about someone who, in a moment of temporary insanity, decided I'd be a suitable bedfellow?

That would explain a lot.

Especially if she's doubling up roles and is the goddess of bathroom lightbulbs and shower drains. Though, I've already dealt with the shower drainage issues. Mr Muscle Sink and Plughole unblocker. That stuff can destroy months of planning on behalf of evil shower drain gods/godesses in one gloop.

The shower drain god/godess has still tried bloody hard though. One day while I was at uni a friend came to stay with me for a few days. We both decided it'd be a really sensible idea to dye each others hair for a fun way to pass a Saturday night. By the time we were done, there weren't no water going down my shower drain. At all. My bathroom was officially flooded. It looked like Hurricane Lisy had hit.

I dragged my friend to my local Sainsbury's. There was a gap on the shelf where Mr Muscle Sink and Plughole Unblocker should've been sitting. The god of shower drainage had been busy that weekend in the Uxbridge area apparently. That, or, he saw me coming. So, I dragged my friend to Tesco's. Again with the empty shelf space. Dammit. This god had planned good. I forced my friend back into my car and dragged him to Sainsbury's in Hayes. The evil shower drain god hadn't seen that one coming. Ha ha! I almost fell to my knees with glee in the middle of a crowded supermarket with cries of "Hallelujah!" But, only almost. I clutched that bright orange bottle of toxic chemicals so dearly, you'd have thought it was a Paralympic gold I'd just won. I felt a similar sense of glee (I'd imagine... the highest ranking medal in my collection is national gold).

Back to Uxbridge we went. I put on my most waterproof shoes to wade through my bathroom to the shower drain in the corner, and down glooped Mr Muscle. A few minutes later my floor was shiny dry!

That whole hair dyeing incident was a bit of a nightmare. I ended up with gold patches (which should've been blue streaks) in my hair. It had a profound effect on me, and the blondishness seeped thorugh into my brain. A couple of months afterwards while the blonde/gold patches were still there, I was reading my horoscope and it said "Relatives could also be quite helpfull with birthday gifts" and I found myself thinking "Wow! That's uncanny! They even knew that my birthday was coming up!"

Duh.

Anyway, back to the evil lightbulb god. While I was at uni, I had an en suite room. The halls office was open from 8am to 5pm Monday to Friday. I'd get back to my room from lectures on a Friday at about 5:15pm, go into my room, go into my bathroom and turn on the light... and the bulb would blow. Regularly. Just because there was bugger all I could do about it for 2 days (three when it went on a bank holiday weekend).

I hate peeing in the dark.

After I left uni I lived in a shared flat, and despite the fact that my official flatmate was also mobility impaired and only half an inch taller than me, there was always someone around who could change a bulb. Then, I moved into a bedsit, so I had a communal bathroom. I'd just leave bulb replacing up to someone else (it's not like I could do it).

So, moving into this flat in March is the first time for a few years that I've been responsible for my own bathroom illumination. The bulb had held out for six months.

Until Saturday night (yes, I don't have a life and I was sitting at home watching the telly while the rest of the world was out having fun). I went to go pee, pulled the light cord as I entered the bathroom... There was a bright flash, and suddenly my whole flat plunged into darkness.

I headed for the drawer in which my torch lives (or did. I dropped it down behind my dining table yesterday. I'm fucked if I need it again any time soon cos I can't be arsed to crawl under there and retrieve it). Torch in hand, I went and fetched my giant poking device from the bathroom (it's actually an extendable roller handle I bought when painting this place. I keep it in the bathroom for poking my gas meter to see how much credit I have left before it all goes cold. It is not in there for dodgy, sinister purposes. I assure you) and the three of us (torch, poking device and me) headed towards the fuse box in the kitchen.

I first encountered my fuse box when I was stripping the disgustingly vile wallpaper in this place. The steamer blew the fuses a couple of times. It took me fucking ages to open the flap on the front to get to the trip switches, trying to hook at it with a long handled dustpan. Once it was open, I "accidentally" opened my kitchen door against the flap and it "accidentally" snapped off. Shame, because now I can easily reset my trip switches with the aid of something pokey.

So, with the rest of my flat illuminated again, I still had to face the prospect of peeing in the dark. At least I don't live with any men. Who, from past experience, seem to only manage to pee in the bowl an average of one in three times even when they can see where they're aiming.

Evil lightbulb god overlooked something though. What he didn't realise was that just over 12 hours later I had tall people coming over to do tall things in the still ongoing redecoration of my flat. Ha ha. My friend's ex-boyfriend installed an energy saving lightbulb guaranteed to last twelve years.

Blow that evil lightbulb god!

I shouldn't say that - he will.