This particular Monday is never a favourite in our house as it means that the holiday week is over and we are all back on the treadmill again. Last night as I drifted off to sleep the morning loomed like a dark cloud, I cuddled even further down amongst the covers and slept at last.
Even in my troubled dreams I could not have imagined the trouble that was to come went I awoke. Having made the bread and baked it once again in my kind neighbours oven I prepared breakfast for us as we waited for the washing machine repair man to call, he did not call, so we called him. He told us that he had called earlier at ten and that there had been no one at home and that he had put a card through our letter box to appraise us of the fact. There had been three people in the house all waiting and there was no cards on the mat.
The controlled said that by now he was out of the area and it was with difficulty that we persuaded her to get him to return. After much argument she agreed and at one O clock he arrived and by now he realised that he had been to the wrong address, a fact of which we were already aware. Although he was inclined for some reason to be rather cross with us he did manage to fix the machine to loud cheers from us all. We were down to our last tea towel and the underpants situation was reaching critical!
Next came a panicky call from a friend who had found and injured hedgehog and could she put it in my garden while [it recovered, I said that of course she could while wondering just what its injuries could be. Time passed, she did not arrive.
#mean while I received an email from My landlords P.P.S the gist of which made it plain that she had not read my letter as she informed me that she had passed it on to the land agent. Had she read my letter she would have known that not only was he largely responsible for the problem in the first place but that he had just left on a two week holiday and would therefore be unable to read it. I replied with a curt e mail advising her of this fact ...again and suggesting that she read the whole letter and take a casual glance at the attachments. I am still awaiting her reply.
By one thirty I had begun to wish that I too was on two weeks leave as the chores remained undone while I wrote yet another batch of e mails in an attempt to get the cooker fixed, hope I might add.
Soup was on the menu for dinner and to refresh myself I headed for the garden to cut some courgettes and sorrel for the soup and decided to make the damson pickle to pass the time.
With my hands looking very gory with damson juice I was obliged to answer the door some one had come to look at the cooker, they looked, they left, and I went back to my gut bucket.
Pa had been dispatched to the village for a quart of malt vinegar and was gone for some time. On his return it was evident that the pickle would have to wait for another day as he had brought only two small bottles which amounted together to about a pint. Hey ho, damson jam then, what a good thing that I had not peeled the onions. I could not be cross with Pa even had I wanted to as he had brought for me a lovely box of chocolates, my favourite sort too , he is such a dear.
One man who came to look at the cooker this morning called me a few minutes ago and told me that the estate required me to do a cookery demonstration to prove that my oven does not work. Do they seriously think that I would be giving myself the trouble on cooking t my neighbours house of there was no need. What a bunch of ..*** !!!!!...**..*!
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