Day 3: Cleaners and Fire Alarms
On to day 3, and I'm realising that I really do have lots to rant about. So much so, in fact, that today it's a double-whammy of a rant because I'm feeling extra bulshy. Which I'll allow, becuase it's my blog. When you get a blog, you can make the rules.
Anyway, so today it's the cleaners. It might just be because my room is next door to the office for, like, all of cryfield, but I've asked other people and it's not just me. They turn up at eight in the morning, and yell at each other down the corridors. And bearing in mind the walls here are made from, like, paper, the shouts of "Hi Stacey, y'alright!?" can be heard quite loudly. Is it so hard to talk in a quiet voice and leave us to sleep? I think not. And it's not even as though they're particularly understanding; we get thrown out of the kitchen whilst cooking so they can clean it and then they throw your NME away because you accidently left it on the table. And they've all got walkie talkies with top-secret codenames. What's that all about? Come on guys, you're not secret agents.
And on the subject of horrible noises, what's up with the fire alarm? Possibly the most ghastly noise ever. A piercing shrill that makes my toes curl. Horrible. And then they test it at random times, like half seven, for just long enough for you to stumble out of bed, put on a dressing gown and get half out the door before they turn it off. How hard can it be to let us know they're about to test them? Then maybe we can stick something in our ears, or leave altogether.
And that is today's rant