My arrival in Slough yesterday was surely one of the most depressing moments of my life. My home for the next 4 months is a serviced apartment located in sunny Slough. Actually, quite a few words other than 'sunny' do occur to me in order to describe Slough...surly, sad, suicidal, sulky, slow, sigh.....
The building in which the apartment is located is one of those cheap arsed new builds...1 bedroom, everything is electric, nasty laminate floors. It's just...well...cheap....I can't quite work out if the lift smells or urine or disinfectant. Maybe it's a combination of both.
Disappointed? That would be an understatement. Ok, so I'm a bit hormonal with womens business right now, and getting of a hangover after arriving home at 4am Sat morning, but I seriously almost burst into tears when I entered the place.
Firstly, some clown had left the central heating on full blast all day. It was a muggy 23 degrees C outside! Threatening rain. (You can really tell I've acclimatised to the weather here). The manager of the place just grinned and suggested I leave the windows open...yeah, nice one. There's 4 lanes of traffic just outside my window. The main road into Slough. Trucks, cars, emergency vehicles with sirens wailing. Plus, we are in a direct flight path for Heathrow air traffic. Fabbo!!!!!!
The manager had such an expectant look on his face awaiting my reaction to the flat. I turned to him and asked him if he could find another apartment for me....ouch...a bit of hurt pride...but I move to a different one on Thursday at the back of the building overlooking a park....can't wait for that one.
Next, a brief tour around the flat and the manager then leaves me in peace to sort my stuff.
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For your reference: John Betjeman's Sapphic to Slough.
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