Goldilocks and the little drummer boy

THE LOST BLOG

“Who’s been sleeping in my bed?” Wasn’t said by the three bears but by Goldilocks as she arrived back at her house swap having been away for the last 10 nights. It wasn’t just the way the bed was left, not in its usual, “just right” fashion that it was always found in, it was the stale smell of smoke that hung in the air and bedclothes. The other giveaway was the tin lid full of ash left by the side of the bed and the drug pipe contraption left in the en-suite. Goldilocks lovely clean towels looked like they had been used to wipe down the stray dog that you just rescued from the canal. Her new unopened body lotion half gone and left inside the shower. The half bar of soap now no more than a slither, the toilet roll had disappeared along with its inner cardboard roll, and also the spare one under the sink; but the toilet certainly wasn’t found as it was left without going into too much detail. But the worst thing was the stale smoke hanging in the air, closed curtains and ruffled bed clothes.

It wasn’t too long, whilst bringing the luggage into the house that the door banged with the garage door left open for light. Banging doors have the tendency to wake sleeping people even if it’s about 2pm but it was New Years Day after all. It therefore wasn’t too long before the little drummer boy showed his face and dreadlocks wishing us a Happy New Year; what a nice gesture, especially a little after the crack of noon. “Got any smokes”, was our second greeting. “We don’t smoke” Goldilocks answered. Perhaps he thought we had made a new years resolution which would save his life from eternal withdrawal, or even the short bike ride into town. “Can I borrow the car to go and get some?” was his third and final muttering before disappearing through the still open garage door.

Goldilocks thought that there might have been a party in the ironing room because all the chairs were in unusual positions and when one was replaced back to its resting place a massive iron mark was revealed on the carpet. I somehow can’t imagine an ironing party especially not over Christmas, but I could imagine a masochistic branding party for some reason. I guess we will never know. The drummer boy returned with his hands full of his fixes and headed back to his sanctuary. We had intended to go straight out and get supplies before the shops shut but delayed this slightly in favour of some urgent internet activities. That’s when the other occupant of the smoke room emerged to have a smoke outside; maybe she wanted some fresh air to go with her fag. She disappeared back in there again and hasn’t been seen since; she may be still in there for all we know. The other thing that disappeared was the drug pipe smoking contraption that was left in our en-suite that we had placed by the sink next to the rotting fruit in the kitchen. Goldilocks reflected that maybe she had come back just a little too early.