Stuff in the dark
Like any right-thinking human, I fucking hate lofts.
Our loft is a terrible place. The house has been in my partner’s family for almost a century, and the loft bears witness to that. It is a black and cluttered affair, full of artefacts, spiders, fear and nonsense.

My latest and worst loft experience happened just two weeks’ ago. I was on paternity leave (we have a son!) and my recovering missus suddenly remembered that British Gas were coming round the following day to lay down loft insulation. This is free, with the proviso that you put down boards first, so that any stuff that’s up there has something to sit on. We’d bought the boards weeks previously, but now they had to be laid.

I was struck equally by nervousness and a crushing sense of duty. I sloped off outside, and returned with the stepladder, lamp and drill. My palms were moist, and my passive-aggressive muttering intense. “Dunno why we can’t just fucking pay someone to do it … fucking loft … full of shit … oh, NOTHING DEAR.”

Up the stairs, ladder unfolded, hatch unlocked and gingerly pushed aside, and in I went.

We live in a terrace – the loft is a shared space with our absent neighbour. He has chronic OCD, so the bits and bobs he stores up there are ruthlessly organised and scant in number.
Our side, however, is a fucking disgrace. Like the British Museum had a wank in a cobweb. Ancient chests jostle for space with stacks of 80s mixtapes and giant wicker seats. Binbags full of awful clothes block every rafter. And the only thing my shit lamp illuminates is what’s directly or imminently underfoot. And of course, there’s that eerie silent draught peculiar to lofts everywhere.

Let’s be clear here – I am a creature of the office. My hands are a running joke amongst my more capable friends, unsullied as they now are by the marks of labour. My fingers have become delicate, typing affairs; my slender wrists unencumbered by veins or gristle. In short, I have no place in a DIY situation, and certainly don’t belong in a pitch-black nostalgia dumping ground with 18 wooden boards and a drill I can’t fucking work.

Up drifted my lady’s voice – “Just be careful up there! And can you have a look for my breast pump?”

Sigh.

Inhaling great black lungfuls of dust and fibreglass, I began feebly disturbing the ageing piles of junk. Carefully, of course. I wouldn’t want to slip on all this shit and …

FUUUUUUUCK

Before the intense pain and shame kicked in, my first thought as I plummeted through the ceiling with the grime from a century of bric-a-brac was – “So this really does happen to some wankers.”

Never found that breast pump, and paid a friend to finish the job. I’m through with lofts.

Pic in replies.
( Wet-chinned bag shanker Cannot parse Wogan, Thu 3 May 2012, 15:26, 27 replies)

( Wet-chinned bag shanker Cannot parse Wogan, Thu 3 May 2012, 15:28, closed)

hahahahaha!
you colossal knobber! :D
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Thu 3 May 2012, 15:31, closed)

Was ceiling cat up there?

(Sivvus trolley collision in the fruit aisle led to a jam, Thu 3 May 2012, 15:35, closed)

Worse. Ceiling spider.

( Wet-chinned bag shanker Cannot parse Wogan, Thu 3 May 2012, 15:54, closed)

Was the door open when you came through?

( M3rx likes the Asian ladies, Thu 3 May 2012, 16:00, closed)

Well spotted!
Thankfully it was – I didn't make it all the way to the floor. My feet landed on the door and I pitched backwards onto a rafter with my arse. My forearm also slammed the rafter, so I stayed 50% in the loft. Clambering back up there was a clumsy affair.
Torn ligaments in my left arm, very nasty abrasions, and a black bruise on my arse that looks like Europe. If I'd come down at an angle and the door had swung closed from the impact of my feet. I'd have been fucked. Ditto if it had been closed in the first place. Or if my feet went either side of it (wince).

Hail the door.
( Wet-chinned bag shanker Cannot parse Wogan, Thu 3 May 2012, 16:19, closed)

You
Could of shredded your bollocks off on the door, so it was a thin line between helping you out and being called Mandy.... very funny however and reminds me of an episode of some mothers do have em *clicks*
(bROKEN aRROW PUA HVI Master, Thu 3 May 2012, 16:35, closed)

Dear god
I thought that was the arse and tail of a giant rat for a second there. *shudders*
(SimianKid internet faffer, Thu 3 May 2012, 17:45, closed)

That robe hook...
::shudderr::

Before he was Mr. Kila, my other half did some work in his loft. He broke a rib bouncing on the edge of dining table.
( kila is reading clocks upside-down as usual, Sat 5 May 2012, 21:52, closed)

This should win
simply for the line "Like the British Museum had a wank in a cobweb"
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Thu 3 May 2012, 15:35, closed)

^

(Sivvus trolley collision in the fruit aisle led to a jam, Thu 3 May 2012, 15:35, closed)

^^^this

(localboy purveyor of pisspoor puns, Thu 3 May 2012, 15:40, closed)

That >>>>>>>>


Wait, where am I?
(username failed moderation, Thu 3 May 2012, 15:45, closed)

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<The other
Very good turn of phrase. I LOLd
( Snappyuk gets BIGGER with free sample., Thu 3 May 2012, 20:28, closed)

"Like the British Museum had a wank in a cobweb"
Aye, I'm clicking for this line alone. Excellent stuff.
(_(_(_(_(_(_(_(_(_ =o.o=, Fri 4 May 2012, 16:17, closed)

I tried to put down boards
in my loft once.

The hatch was just big enough to shove 8' x 4' boards through, so I got a few of those, in lovely cheapchipboard, and shoved them through into the loft.

The first thing I discovered was the rafters were all over the place, nothing even close to level. I screwed one end of the board down, and found the other end was hovering about a foot above the timber I needed to screw it to. So I sat on it, and screwed it down.

The other end went *pop*, and flew up with a boinging sound, to end up . . hovering about a foot off the rafter. Now with 3 big holes where the screws had been torn through it.

I went and sat on that end, and it broke in the middle.

Short version: When I moved, my loft had 1 broken piece of chipboard, and 3 good untouched pieces piled on top of the clutter that was already in there.
(username failed moderation, Thu 3 May 2012, 15:39, closed)

Cripple

( Light In Chains maker of the ikea sofa, Thu 3 May 2012, 15:40, closed)

wait . . .
are you the guy that says angry things all the time?
(username failed moderation, Thu 3 May 2012, 15:46, closed)

Yep he is.
Angry and impotent things.
( The Mock Turtle ™ --- Thinks you are a cunt, on, Thu 3 May 2012, 15:58, closed)

"Disgrace to men everywhere" is the general consensus.

( Wet-chinned bag shanker Cannot parse Wogan, Thu 3 May 2012, 16:00, closed)

Atypical of men everywhere would be more accurate.
Hardly a disgrace, you failed with the requisite level of 'spectacle and damage'.
( number5 has been fighting tramps and losing., Thu 3 May 2012, 22:38, closed)

That gets a woo click from me.

( The Mock Turtle ™ --- Thinks you are a cunt, on, Thu 3 May 2012, 15:58, closed)

i like this, if only for the loft-draught.

( janet aylia y'all motherfuckers need jesus, Thu 3 May 2012, 16:43, closed)

Hahahaha.
Splendid stuff. You're not a real man until you've put atleast a foot through the attic floor.
( Evil Bastardo, Thu 3 May 2012, 16:45, closed)

Properly excellent...

An early winner I think.

*Clicks aplenty*
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Thu 3 May 2012, 21:50, closed)

What was the story about the breast pump?
Why did the moiety want it?

Clicks anyway.
(justin(e), Wed 9 May 2012, 11:50, closed)

No story really.
It was up there from when we had our first child, and she wanted to use it again for our latest.
( Wet-chinned bag shanker Cannot parse Wogan, Wed 9 May 2012, 14:56, closed)