On Friday Iris and I got a little culture: the Batsheva Dance Company’s Anaphase was on at the State Theatre, and very good it was too. On Saturday we took the kids to Luna Park for a bit, then got them back to their mum’s place so I could lie in wait at my place for another one of my landlady’s mythical repairmen.
Years ago, she proclaimed that a man would come to fix the hallway carpet. After ten months of asking “did he come?” she gave up, and had it tiled over instead. Which, for the record, took another four months.
Well, now she’s on a mission to fix the dampness seeping through the wall behind the shower. And she appears to have called a repairman of equal reliability to the carpet guy. In fact, who knows, it might even be the same person, though I’m still not confident he exists.
Sure enough, about half an hour after he was due, she knocked on the door, and asked “did he come?” Of course, he hadn’t. Lucky it’s not an urgent problem, because I’m definitely not holding my breath.
