In the beginning there was passive-aggressive peace. The scurvy mess was contained to the realms of the bedroom and over time, the mess became forgotten, a memory. Although the barnyard smell was a faint reminder of its presence, it soon became camouflaged with the passing of time.
There’s a difference between peace, hibernation, and strategizing…
Overall, Burty is a private person and very particular when it comes to time off and certain home comforts. So, when Burty started keeping his bedroom door shut, I could entirely understand the reasoning.
Although I instantly became curious…
Although I’d put it to the back of my head along with Maths and Shakespeare, it would always eventually seep forward. It could be that maybe Burty fancied a change from the sound bites of a running hoover, or maybe my shower vocals had proved too intimidating. Or maybe he just wanted to be alone. After all, a person’s room is their own private kingdom. I’d walk past, acknowledge the door is shut and feel no sense of curiosity behind it. But the second I’d turn the corner; I’d be cursed with the need to know. I’ll admit it sounds perverted. But it’s more like a puppy being shut out of the family room. Pawing underneath with a dread that they’re missing out on something mind blowing. After all, it couldn’t be anything else. But my brain would go into overdrive on the logistics and rattle through an array of possible diabolical activities. Then a curveball- the cat! There was no Burty without his malting mate, she’d have to come and go sooner or later. But what were the noises? (Not like that…)
I’d become accustomed to the usual orchestra of video game noises, and I knew the roster, these weren’t the usual ‘Pew, Pew’ or ‘Killstreak’. So, what was he doing? Was he hiding something? Was he packing and preparing to make a run for it in the night? Maybe he made a stain on the carpet and was scared I’d waterboard him with carpet cleaner…For all I knew, he could have been playing poker with Minion or planning a heist. I would occasionally and covertly infiltrate the Fortress of Fur disguised as a cleaner. I would sob whilst hoovering and collecting the cemented cereal bowl carcases. Yet, there were no signs of anything unusual in the Wasteland. This continued over the course of a few months, where I’d be teased and lured in by the clamour and hullabaloo veiled behind a closed door. Although I remained curious, I prepared for what was potentially to come.
Whilst Burty had been living with me so far, he had managed to acquire numerous free or discarded items from friends and the like. I rather like that; I think its lovely to see a community helping and embracing someone new in any small but meaningful way they can. It’s also especially helpful when you’ve just moved, and you’re looking to personalise a space and make it home. After all, one man’s rubbish is another man’s riches. But it was starting to get out of hand. Along with an A1 Batman canvas, a desk the size of the iceberg that sunk the Titanic, storage cabinets, guitars, shelves, an old PC and other forgettable items you’d throw out, Burty built his sanctuary, but he was running out of space.
On the 2nd of October 2023, Burty approached and pitched taking new ground and expanding his scurvy kingdom to the spare room, AKA The Blue Room. This is usually used as a guest room for any siblings, parents, friends or inebriated souls to crash and have a bed for the night. Like the Shire, the Blue Room was untouched and unscathed by the forces of scurvy. Hidden in an idyllic bubble, it was free of cat hair, coffee cup ring marks, fingerprints and dog-eared carpet. But instead, it had crisp flawless lines with unfaded, gleaming trim with the welcoming aroma of clean linen and new, unused furnishings.
Burty’s first pitch, was to transform the beautiful blue Shire into a gaming room. This would conveniently house his consoles, guitars, and anything in his mind worth filling the day with. Meanwhile, his room would remain as a place to scheme, grow, and sleep. Although he graciously stressed the room would be transformed with a mutual gain and access for us both. But there were a few problems with this.
Although I understood Burty’s natural and millennial predicament of ‘having too much stuff’, I was put off by not having a space for guests, friends and comrades to visit. Speaking from experience, its truly awful staying on someone’s sofa when you’re passed your thirties. The nonchalant morning wakeups are transformed into cautiously sleeping with one eye open and pouncing at the first sound or sight of life to ensure your testicles aren’t on display. There would be no privacy or space for anyone who travelled far to visit the house of Scurvy, and this didn’t seem fair.
Also, as Burty had amassed enough handouts to open a shop of curiosities, the Blue Room would be over-run. Meaning, the preexisting organised residents would need to be re-located to make room. Although I protested frustrations of transforming the Shire into a storage room, Burty re-assured me this wouldn’t be the case. Lastly and not to flare my pedantic side too much, but the agreement to move in was for a bedroom, but he’s doubled his real estate and disrupted the natural eco-system of the house. I found myself unnecessarily frustrated; having to find room or time to re-home my own belongings and trinkets without the care for forethought. It seemed to me as self-entitled and unreasonable.
After Burty’s sour pitch in the Den with a whiney pubescent Dragon, Burty surprisingly retreated quickly back to his fortress and as far as I knew, the matter was squashed.
But he had only retreated to re-group.
Then, on the 5th of October 2023 Burty pulls a pincer move and commences a second wave of pitching. But this time, Burty suggested a room swap by changing his current room into a ‘communal second lounge’ for both of us whilst he moves into the Shire. Although the second lounge would be somewhere he would spend most of his time, it provided ample space for his storage needs whilst keeping it free for any visiting house guests.
Again, there were a couple of issues with this.
Burty is a notoriously early riser in the mornings. Rain or shine, Burty will be up before you. So, with all of Burty’s sources of entertainment in the guest room, what was he going to do when someone was staying? God forbid Dad or anyone wakes up to a Burty playing bass or button bashing in his pants. I had images of Burty pawing under the door like a cat to stir a reaction from inside, desperate to notch those missed kill streaks and win those coveted, artificial football cups and achievements.
But in truth, Burty’s pitch felt like the equivalent of abandoning Earth for Mars once we’ve trashed it enough. It doesn’t solve the problem; you’re spreading and enabling it. I can appreciate it’s not my place to judge how a bedroom is kept. They’re personal, intimate places that are very specific to a person. Yet alas, Burty’s room is like a wasteland thick with cat hair, coffee spills and carcases of wrappers and boxes of last week’s menu.
After spending lockdown therapeutically fixing, painting, building, sanding, sanding and more sanding, I had witnessed the fall of Rome when the Master Bedroom was occupied by Burty, and I wasn’t prepared to trade the Shire for the ashes of Gondor and start again. Although this side point was quickly put to rest with a comforting and reassuring backhanded statement that firstly, Burty always disliked the decor of the Shire and wanted to change it and secondly, Burty hadn’t watched Lord of the Rings.
But from a practical point of view, Burty is too big for the Shire. For some time now, I’ve referred to Burty as ‘The Tree’ because he’s tall, blocks out the sun and tends to plant himself in the middle of the room in order to concentrate on something else- mainly the sun or his phone. But due to this fact, Burty could not have a single bed, because Tree’s need larger beds to grow in. The spare room didn’t have the capacity to house Burty’s bed, let alone anything else. If you did, you’d quickly forget the sensation of feet on carpet and have the bed hanging out the window. Not to mention the additional charitable contributions horded in every crevice that would need to be rehoused.
There’s a reason there weren’t any Ents in the Shire Burty! Watch the films, you’ll understand.
But nervous of territory being crossed, we held a house summit with coffee and biscuits.
Whilst pulling out the big guns and sliding a pack of jammy dodgers on the table, we discussed and agreed there at least needed to be a clear out. Several snacks and jammy delicious treats later, we eventually saw eye to eye and agreed the desk, AKA The Berg was the best place to start. Unable to resist the highs of a clear-out and growing ever concerned that the creeks I could hear were my floorboards dipping from the weight of the Berg, I agreed to help. Under the condition that he gets what he doesn’t want cleared away afterwards.
An agreement was made and on one terrible Wednesday, after yet another terrible stat enforced ‘Challenge Day’ at the office for me, and one too many fragrant customers for Burty. Together, on the fields of the blue room, we rolled up our sleeves, flexed our muscles and standing back-to-back, broke the Berg. We then dragged the carcass outside to warn other neighbouring desks and to add a niche fragrance of white trash to the outside of the house, until Burty summoned the ferryman of the tip to take it away.
Weeks pass
The splintered wreckage remains outside, weathered and beaten. After infiltrating the realm of Burty for a routine bowls and cups evac-rescue, I noticed other items remained that hadn’t been gathered up, but quite easily could have been. If anything, they got in the way, or made life far more tiresome than it needed to be. They were obstacles of pointlessness, stuffed in every nook and cranny. Wardrobes and cupboards stacked with boxes, junk and discarded items to think about later, blocked doors and obstacle courses formed of suitcases and discarded laundry that added to the floor tapestry. But for the most part, the cat seemed to be enjoying it. When it didn’t seem stuck.
More weeks pass.
Looking to move on from our rustic entrance aesthetic, I reluctantly start gathering some of the remaining items and break them down in the hope the observation will incentivise a re-boot. Although I remain hopeful, they’re quickly shattered hours later when Burty returns home and steps over the remains of the Berg.
More weeks pass.
I move one or two more things I deem unnecessary and probably beyond use. A crushed canvas speared to the floor by a bed leg, boxes and anything veiled with a thick coat of dust. I dismantle them, bin them, and leave the evidence outside. To clarify, this seems passive aggressive, but it was my honest intention for it to merely anchor Burty to the cause rather than going down the usual avenues of negotiations, nagging and tantrums from yours truly.
More weeks pass.
My vanity got the better of me and so like any man in trouble, I went to my girlfriend for help because she has a car. The Berg was then taken to its final resting place.
Feeling liberated with the weight of the Berg off my chest, I eagerly awaited Burty’s reveal moment and celebratory reaction to the vanished, vanquished foe. Upon Burty’s return, I was once again left with a blue balls equivalent as he ascended the stairs and began racking up his kill streaks. Not to say that the lives of thirty-year-old plus men revolves around such momentous moments and ripples of change like getting rid of a desk. But there wasn’t a whisper… But then, days later, Burty arrives back home from work with a media storage unit desk. Although the Berg had been put to bed, I couldn’t help but feel dishevelled and rubbed the wrong way. I felt like I made a mistake, contributing more of an effort to make space, yet Burty was only reaping the rewards and arriving just as the cake was cut. I felt jipped, hustled, rubbed up. Besides, there was still a horded backlog to clear out first. Or as many bouncers so charmingly told me, ‘We’re at capacity’.
I felt like I was one of the scientists in Jurassic Park after the first one. They’re all packing up and moving all their eggs and dinosaur tech. All getting ready to move to the next island or remote, untouched location or secret lab to start over and try again.
Just stop… Sam Neill had the right idea.
From my perspective, Burty had clearly noticed the additional free space and didn’t chime in when it counted; Despite it being his mess. Additionally, he already had a television stand that came with the room. Although, when I raised this point, it was met with a swift, unrelenting counter of:
“I gave that to you, its shit…’
Brilliant…
Again, I understand the need and craving to personalise a space; both practically and in keeping to one’s personal tastes. But please also make sure you include what’s shit.
After a final discussion, we decided to compromise and shift some of the additional furniture and collectable junk you never use together. You know, the kind of stuff that just gathers dust in a cupboard or drawer. But there’s always a hesitation to get rid of it in case of the ‘What if I need it?’ What if I need that tin full of buttons, that chair with the broken leg or ten extra crockery bowls and alien looking cooking utensils.
In fairness, I shouldn’t have been so protective and possessive about my space and storing away trinkets. If they haven’t been missed or used in a year, what’s the point?
It was one of those moments which becomes infectious like a bug. Burty saw me sorting and boxing and he quickly followed suite. After a morning and afternoon of clearing and moving, we went to the local charity shops and donated anything that could go to good use.
Currently and although the borders of the Shire have been breached, it’s been put-to-use in a way that we both have access to. It’s our room of Requirement, Dreamatorium; a space to get away. Whether for reading, playing games, escaping, drawing, or getting into music; and we would both be responsible for the upkeep.
Burty thrives on following suit. If he notices me cleaning, tidying, or seeing something that will overall benefit the house, he’ll eventually roll up his sleeves and jumps in with a casual, yet begrudging spirit.
Almost like a cat, he’ll sniff at it, maybe poke it with his paw a few times and look unimpressed. But once he can see results coming together, he’s all in. In doing so, Burty has brought his own flare to the room and has a quiet space where he can get away and spend his time. Over the months, he’s managed to distribute his belongings and explore other hobbies and aspirations. It makes it all worthwhile knowing that it all wasn’t done in vain and something positive can come from this.
On the other hand, Burty having access to two rooms has its own benefits. If we’re ever burgled or broken into by Michael Myers, Leather face or a Xenomorph, Burty’s definitely going first. I’m sure this isn’t the last time negotiations are held for more space, but in the meantime, I’ll hear the axe murderer coming a mile away.
But it brings with it the introduction of a new four stringed foe in the house of scurvy.
Burty got a bass and an amp.
