That’s it. I shall never ever put my trust in the stars again. I shall only look at them from the gutter, as recommended by Oscar Wilde.
What a fine disappointment (apart from Wednesday late evening) this week has been. My horror scope told me last Sunday (remember?) that I should say ‘yes’ to everything coming my way for the next seven days. This minute it’s Saturday morning and time is running out. And nothing has come my way. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Zero. Please do not suggest that this might have something to do with my having put myself under house arrest. Human contact thus limited. There are other ways to communicate in the ether. Any moment now I’ll expect ET landing on the window sill. Peering in. Asking me what I am doing at 0355 BST at my desk and could he please have some scrambled eggs. Of course. Yes. Or an omelet.
The hot water situation (in the kitchen) has now reached critical mass. The plumber took the boiler away. When he asked me whether he could come back today (Saturday) to replace it I was so happy to be given one of my last opportunities to say: “Yes”. I even said ‘please’. Plumber promised to add cost of new toilet seat and fixing it to the fab Fabrizio’s (that’s my landlord) bill for having let the boiler slide into disrepair. “Compensation for your inconvenience”, Handy Andy said. You can’t beat it. Can you? Why did Handy Andy not become a lawyer?
What will the next 48 hours bring (other than a new horror scope)?
Hugs and kisses, please do make up for the deficit of questions I might be able to say ‘yes’ to. Or maybe I should take up growing mushrooms in the dark.