I hadn’t given my tenant notice that I was calling – I should have, and I would have normally but the rent was unpaid for this month and I felt that if he’d broken the tenancy I wasn’t under an obligation to observe all the normal courtesies. I rang the bell and he answered the door as he was working from home. The living room is set up as an office so I wasn’t surprised (although he shouldn’t really). Anyway, I introduced myself, we shook hands and I asked if it’d be all right to read the meters, which was fine with him. Afterwards, I went upstairs and he told me that three of the lights hadn’t worked for the last couple of weeks. That was obviously a switch that had tripped, so I rang Weeza to find out where the fuse box was. Oh right, in plain view. We reset the switch, laughed about it and then I asked when he’d be leaving the flat and what about the unpaid rent?
Well, the explanation he gave was not unfeasible if you’re used to young people, some of whom are astonishingly irresponsible, and when he showed me the stack of unopened mail I was inclined to believe him. I explained what I wanted, what could happen and whom he should contact, and we talked about how clean and tidy he’d leave the flat. When I got home last night, I emailed the person he was to contact, this morning I also sent him the additional phone number I’d (this is remarkably sensible for me) thought to ask for, and apparently he will send payment for two months quam celerrime, or tout de suite if you prefer.
Feeling things had gone well, I toddled along to the agents’ office, had a chat with the chap dealing with finding a new tenant and thought about lunch. I wandered around for a bit, but what I really fancied – a cold glass of chilled white wine and a proper sandwich with crusty bread – wasn’t on apparent offer where I looked, and then I remembered that among the unopened mail was a letter for the downstairs tenant and I’d forgotten to deliver it. So I went back to the flats. And then I thought I might as well call in the pub next door, so I had a pint and a packet of Twiglets for my lunch, as it was a bit late to be reasonable to ask for real food; it being about 20 to 3. I told them the tenant would be leaving in a month but obviously I didn’t mention the rest.
Then I caught the bus to Trafalgar Square – well, actually, I walked from Shaftesbury Avenue. I must say, I got on well with the walking pole. It was a real help some of the time to have some extra support.
The exhibition was reasonably busy without being crowded, and it was brilliant. I really enjoyed it. One might think that £12 entry was enough without £3.50 for an audio guide, but unless you know a lot about Picasso, I’d recommend forking out the extra. Anyway, what’s the value of the paintings there? How many millions or hundreds of millions? All in six rooms with you being close enough to touch – not that you would of course. I finally toddled out not long before closing time of 6 o’clock, took a bus from Charing Cross and had time to kill at the station. I bought food and drink at M&S – a salmon and cucumber sandwich, some parsnip crisps and a bottle of water (it was heavily discounted, all for £2, which shows how keen they all are to get our custom now), a small bottle of wine and a large pack of carrot sticks. I read my book and the paper and ate the carrot, crisps and drank the water while waiting and ate the sandwiches and drank the wine on the train. I didn’t tell the Sage how little I’d eaten all day as he’d wanted me to have a lovely meal out, but it’s not the same on your own, is it?
The Sage was waiting on the platform and drove me home, I made coffee, read and wrote emails and comments and was in bed soon after midnight. Today, I took Squiffany to nursery school, looked after Pugsley and entertained Zerlina (her mother is entertaining enough in her own right).
This morning, my new heel lifts arrived in the post. You can adjust them from 1mm to 12mm by degrees of 1 mm. I’ve got in 9mm at present. When I first put the lift in and walked across the room, Weeza said “you’re walking straight and not limping for the first time in ages.” I’m going back for more lovely ultrasound tomorrow, I’ll see if he thinks I’ve got it right or whether I need to go up or down a bit.
Our television, which we can’t remember how long we’ve had but must be at least 12 years, is starting to go on the blink a bit. I’ve said to Ro that if the promised rent comes through I’ll buy the new one of his choice. He is very happy.