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My breadmaker is in my toilet
A while ago the housing association announced that our kitchens were to be replaced. There was nothing wrong with my existing kitchen, apart from, I suppose, the impression it would give an estate agent, of being "dated"; kitchens and bathrooms always have to be "new". I'd rather have had a small reduction in my rent if they've got that much money to fling around.
It's created a great deal of disorder, and I invite you, for a limited time only, into my studio flat (I suppose "bedroomless" never caught on), sprawling with the emptied contents of my kitchen. These images will be removed in a couple of weeks, so nudify them quickly.
Garden Corner
For a couple of unhappy days, I thought I was to be without a door, as the new kitchens come doorless. So unless I keep the blind down at all times, anyone walking along the outside landing could see straight through and view me at my repose, as I turn the heater up whilst bathed in the stale smells of yesterday's cooking.
The Study
In my usual impatient way, I wrote and sent a two-page letter to the HA saying I was "most displeased" -- a phrase which came out naturally at the time but sounds poncy now -- which I will now have to retract.
I intercepted one of the builders this morning. "You want the door reinstated?" he said. "Well yes, if you like." He explained I was lucky that for some reason my door frame was about a centimetre wider than the others, so could accomodate the new units. We got chatting. He's from Liverpool, and said that his ex-wife worked with a "service user" who injected her daughter with heroin as a present for her eleventh birthday.
I'm off to Merthyr Tydfil FC on Saturday, who, for reasons which clearly don't include geography, are in the National League North with us and many clubs much further north. Weather's looking a bit grim.
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