The House

So I live in this house shared with three others. I don't really know why. They are all much younger than me and the place is like a dump. There are so many layers of old carpet and rugs on the floor that I can't tell what the original flooring looked like. The house is quite large with rooms going off in all directions from a central huge living room that morphs into the kitchen up one end. The kitchen is piled high with unwashed plates and bowls. I sometimes manage to find a reasonably clean mug to make a cup of coffee but every time I only drink half as I discover something floating in it and have to tip the rest out in the sink.

The living room has a diverse range of miss matched furniture. Anything that can be sat on is strategically positioned around a central television that is propped up on boxes. There is an old olive green leather lounge, with rips and stains, where the central cushion must be the most comfortable as it is squashed in more than the cushions either side of it. There is an orange, timber framed arm chair straight out of the 1960's. There is a patchwork bean bag, I don't know if it started out as patchwork or has just been mended many times over the years. I usually go for the bean bag. In one corner there is a Lowrie organ, you know the type with the different sound settings and the rhythm accompaniment. I can see I will have to get my sound equipment out so we have something to listen to apart from the TV and the organ.

The other residents of the house come and go with not a lot of interaction. They all seem to be glum or angry or tired. Nathan is a very large young man mountain and is an apprentice electrician who I only seem to see when he is just about to leave for work or is just getting home from work. Either way the routine is the same: he noisily strides into the kitchen, rummages for the cleanest bowl he can find and a spoon, fills the bowl with breakfast cereal and sits at the organ to eat it. When finished he throws the bowl on top of the pile in the kitchen and, if it is morning, leaves for work, if it is evening goes to his bedroom.

Synthia (yes with a "S" and a "Y") is a model who I really only see at various times of the day when she stumbles out of her room and asks what time is it. She will invariably be hiding beneath a bush of unkempt, uncontrollable bad bed hair and about three layers of baggy shirts but will still be looking gorgeous with a beautiful face that says "Yes, I'm a model".

Anthony is the loudest member of the house. He never stops talking. He has an opinion on everything and will loudly explain his opinion even if no one is listening. He can usually be found bounding from his bedroom to the living room to the bathroom and back again expounding his ultra-conservative views on the news, politics, the nation, the world, the neighbours, anything, everything. I usually disagree with everything he says but it takes too much energy to debate him so I will just let him go. He works in advertising or promotions or something and is never seen without a shirt and tie and immaculately styled hair.

Anthony's father Jack often visits and usually ends up arguing with him. He is in his sixties and used to work in the music business back in the seventies and eighties. I get on well with Jack. One time Jack was sitting in the 60's chair waiting to talk to Anthony, I was on the bean bag watching a show on the TV showing old music videos. He made a running commentary about every video that came on: how he worked with them, or hated her, or he drank too much. So much so that I thought that it would be interesting to sit down with him one day and find out everything he knows.

So Nathan has trudged off to work in his work truck, Synthia has bussed into the city to a photo shoot, Jack has taken Anthony to some important meeting with some influential music people he is introducing him to while I sit in front of the TV in the bean bag and think about setting up something to allow us to listen to music in the lounge room. Maybe I will make a cup of coffee - maybe not.