Three out. Of three.

Not Nadja, not Max, not Tessa

~Nadja ~Max & ~Tessa's room

Who needs an octopus to demonstrate publication bias? The door of my spare room has pretty good track record so far. Although, it is more of a psychic bouncer than a sports pundit. If I paint your name on it, it’s safe to say you’ll never move in. Shortly before Nadja was due to move in, I painted her name on the door of what was to be her study. A few weeks later she dumped me for the very last time.

One year later my brother Max was due to move in for a few months while he acclimatised to that there London. To welcome him, Nadja was airbrushed from history and his name went up on the door. That was 2 january 2009, he was later that week. In fact, he took about another 5 months to get to London but then stayed north of the river.

Just in case you’re not yet impressed, the psychic door did not prevent two temporary visitors from staying. The daughter of one my mum’s friends stayed for a week. Her name wasn’t down so she was allowed in. Then Adrian moved in. He had to put with me for a flatmate and having to cram a house full of stuff into that tiny space, so if anyone earned the right to have their name painted on the door it would have been him. But it wasn’t and he stayed for 6 months.

Finally, two months ago Tessa dumped me. Not out of the blue but very suddenly and very abruptly. After much begging, blubbing, pleading and pestering, she did agree to a stay of execution. A trial partial separation. We were engaged and I believed (and still do) that we could eventually have lived happily ever after. So this seemed like a great test for the psychic door. So she was painted inexpertly on the door in magnetic paint no less.

What’s more it would be a psychic insurance policy. If she moved in, I’d win eternal happiness. If she didn’t, I would have ever more proof of my doors magical properties.

Needless to say, it now appears she will never, ever give me another chance and I am the proud owner of a portal into the world of black magic. I feel like Tom Baker’s voodoo artist in the Vault of Horror.

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The really interesting experiment would be to write my OWN name on the door…

About caspar

Caspar is just one monkey among billions. Battering his keyboard without expectations even of peanuts, let alone of aping the Immortal Bard. By day he is an infantologist at Birkbeck Babylab, by night he runs
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One Response to Three out. Of three.

  1. tom says:

    Coincidences are stranger than magic…

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