Excuse me going on a bit here, but this equates to more than half of my income and so it rather matters to me – the agent rang today with an offer from a potential tenant; a bit less than I am receiving (oh, strike that, should be receiving if ever the dear chap pays his rent, which I trust I’ll have good news about shortly *sigh*) but that would mean I have no period of vacancy at all, so it’s worth a small concession in this period of “negative growth”. So I’ve said yes, and if all goes well I’ll get an agreement to sign by email tomorrow.
Weeza has taken over my job with the Sage rather, which is lovely as she’s enjoying it and they get on so well together, so it’s great to see them having a good time with planning the next sale. She’s finding out how much she didn’t realise she knew about the china and that’s good too, so I’m happy to stay in the background. I like working with the china too, but it’s not that much of a sacrifice when I see them working so well together. I’ll probably still take the photos, unless she wants to, and we’ll do the condition report together as I’m pretty good at spotting flaws (being hardened and cynical and all that) and, well, she’ll become so good at it that she can take over from me altogether next time, unless she gets a proper job or something. She’s not wanting to go back to her old one; not that she didn’t like it, but Norfolk and Mayfair don’t make for simple daily commuting, not if you want to see your baby awake. Still, that’s a decision to be made.
I was seen cycling up the High School hill the other day which is good, because I walked most of it today.
The Sage asked me if I’d got a drink. “I had one” I said, “my glass and the bottle are in the other room.” A few minutes later, he appeared with the refilled glass. “I wouldn’t want you to be without a drink,” he said, lovingly kissing me. “This is because I’m cooking steak, right?” I asked. He agreed. That’s fine with me. Expressions of love – steak for me to him, wine for him to me.
And I bought pork for the weekend before remembering that Zain, who is Muslim, is coming over. Whoops. Mind you, he prefers to stick to Halal meat, so I usually cook veggie when he’s here, so it doesn’t matter as long as the pork is well wrapped. Ro has already amusedly told him that I bought it, so I don’t need to worry about being tactless.
“Do you spell your name with a Z or an S?” asked Weeza of Squiffany, knowing the answer. Squiffany explained how to spell her name, saying the letters she knows and describing the ones she couldn’t name with a pointing finger. It’s quite good, she knows them all in order. And it’s with a Z, as she knew.