My flat leaketh. My flat roof leaketh unto my flat. If only the weather would be a little less biblical.
Tony P-T came to stay and jolly nice it was to see him. By breakfast the novelty had worn off and I realised how much I value my solitude in my bolthole o'er the waves. Regrettably, there was no sitting peacefully watching the sea do its thing with the odd seagull flying past as Tony got out his banjo .... at breakfast! Anyway, this didn't matter as what could have been my quiet moment of meditation and insular thinking was interrupted by the caretaker who had come to inspect the leak and Tony in his pyjamas and me in my nightdress ....OH NO It's not like that, honestly. I had to march the man through all the bedrooms, leaky and not, so he could carefully note two unmade beds before I got the reputation of whore adulteress through the whole village before elevenses. The caretaker took the matter seriously and informed me the whole block of flats is falling down, the managing agents are to be sacked and the future doesn't look orange.
I went home and met the Lovely Claudia. We ate cupcakes and drank tea then went to the Silversmith's Fair down the road which was small but perfectly formed just as we like these events to be. All the lovely glittery sparkly things made me temporarily forget I have invested my entire wealth in a crumbling damp flat by the sea.
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