The return

I've been away for four days visiting some friends down south (more to come on that in another blog) but had left everything in my boyfriend's capable hands whilst I was away. He was going away Saturday-Sunday and had some friends staying over on Friday night. I'd done all I could to make sure the place was tidy and looking nice for our guests and had left him with a list of things he needed to do before they came round. Nothing heavy, put some rubbish out, take the recycling to the bins, just generally make sure everything was fine.

I spoke to him on Friday night before his friends had arrived when he assured me all was fine and all looked nice and my jobs were done. I could relax. His friends were barely here anyway, they didn't get up here until after 9am and they were leaving first thing Saturday morning so not much damage could be done.

He came back to Hull on Sunday evening and went round to his parents (obviously couldn't face 1 night cooking for himself!) but text me to let me know that he was making sure the flat was looking good for when I arrived back home today. How smug I felt. What a lovely boyfriend I had that knew that my flat looking nice was important to me and that I wouldn't want to come back to was a flat full of empty pizza boxes.

When I got back here however my smugness vanished....

Now I'm sure that he thought he'd made everything lovely for me but there's a part of me that wondered exactly what state it was in beforehand for him to have 'tidied up' for me. They're only small things but they're things that have just bugged the hell out of me!

He didn't take the rubbish out. Or he took the black bin liner from the kitchen bin out but failed to take out the stonking big bag of rubbish that I had helpfully put by the door for him ready to take out. That's right. By the door. So the first thing people will have seen upon entering the house is a bag of rubbish. Brilliant.

One of my plants is dead/dying. I'm remaining hopeful that I can revive it but time will tell...

The daffodils in the vase are dead. If there's one thing you don't want to come home to it's dead flowers. I don't mind coming home to no flowers but dead flowers? Not welcoming.

The fridge is rammed. Absolutely rammed full of totally unhelpful things. Fresh things as well that can't all be put together in to one meal and so much of it that there's no way we'll be able to use it before it goes off. On top of this, there's loads of stuff in there that should have been thrown out and hasn't been. How can you not see mould?!

He's done something so that I can't watch a dvd. I just wanted to come back home and relax and whack Friends on or something similarly inane while I checked my e-mails but I can't get the DVD player to work. I'm blaming it on the X-box. I don't know why but I feel it's going to be the culprit.

So instead of coming back to the flat and breathing a sigh of relief that I'm home, I've spent the past hour dealing with dead flowers and putrid food and rubbish bags all the while searching for something half decent to watch on the only 5 channels we have.

I am not in a good mood.

And yet I know I shouldn't be mad at him. I'm just tired because I've spent seven and a half hours on a train (actually 3 trains because there's no direct route) and I haven't had the best of weekends and I know I've got to spend the next week working my backside off for an essay I have due in and I'm absolutely sure that he will have thought that he's made the flat lovely for me and I'll be really happy to be home but I'm nooooooooooot.

Either way I have about an hour to get this bad mood under control and out of my system before he gets home and I let loose a tirade of abuse that's not entirely deserved...