That’s
Nancy’s tummy, just to clear up any confusion. I don’t know how well it would
go down at work.
Another thing that feels mega grown-up, is owning your own flat.
Especially
when you’ve come from a lifetime of renting.
I miss
having someone to ring up when things go wrong.
The
washing machine breaks, so you ring up your letting agent and there’s a new one
within a week.
The
sinks making a funny noise, and, yippee, one call and someone comes to make it
sound normal again.
There
never really was any need to find out how to fix anything, as you were always a
ring away from someone else sorting it out.
And
then you get your own place.
And it’s a baptism of fire.
Or more honestly, a series of adjustments to just live with the things that go wrong.
And it’s a baptism of fire.
Or more honestly, a series of adjustments to just live with the things that go wrong.
There’s
been a drip under the sink in the bathroom for the best part of a year now, and
it’s getting worse. But instead of investigating properly, we’ve just
found bigger and more absorbent things to clear the puddle of water up with.
In the
beginning, one sheet of bog roll would do it.
More recently, it’s escalated to pairs of pants.
You go in the shower, come out, brush your teeth, and pool of water starts to appear. So you dry it with your undies you’ve taken off before getting it the shower, then put them in the wash box.
More recently, it’s escalated to pairs of pants.
You go in the shower, come out, brush your teeth, and pool of water starts to appear. So you dry it with your undies you’ve taken off before getting it the shower, then put them in the wash box.
Job
done.
We’ve
also got some kind of biblical style plague of clothes moths that have recently
taken up residence. Where do they come from? I’m hoping they work on the same
principle as head lice and it’s actually because I’ve got an amazingly clean
house.
Nancy,
who’s eyesight is better than mine and Ben’s combined, has adopted the role of
chief moth spotter. On locating one, she’ll stamp her feet enthusiastically,
point and shout, ‘BUG, BUG, BUG!’ until one of us squashes it, then announces, ‘GOT
IT!’
This is
such a frequent event, that we’ve started walking around with big wadges of tissue
in our pocket, ready to splat them at a moment’s notice.
The
thing is, Nancy’s started to catch the bugs in the garden too, and comes
running in proudly clutching a woodlouse that’s been held so tightly between
her thumb and forefinger that it’s disintegrated.
It’s a
tricky lesson to teach- kill the insects inside so you don’t feel like you're
living in some kind of skeffy student den.
Live harmoniously
with them outside.
I know
I should find out how to sort these things out.
As well as learning how to put up a shelf, change a wheel and know why you can’t reheat rice.
Because, one day, I’m going to have to pass all this valuable information onto Nancy.
As well as learning how to put up a shelf, change a wheel and know why you can’t reheat rice.
Because, one day, I’m going to have to pass all this valuable information onto Nancy.
But for
now, I’m going to continue to ignore it all.
Until things
get too bad.
Then I’ll
ring my dad.
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