In a further twist of feckin’ fate, the head man of the ‘drain digger-uppers’ has resigned due to the stress of the Underground Lair.
HE’S SUFFERING FROM STRESS
HOW THE FECK DOES HE THINK I FEEL?
Any road up – to explain…
Apparently, on finally getting to speak to him this morning, he is leaving the company at the end of December because he can’t cope any more.
‘Twould appear that the ‘workers’ are instructed to do their drainy bit and then scarper without ever speaking to the policy holder. And so, ‘twas thus that no one ever bothered to inform Lovely One that her gaff wasn’t ready for occupation this very day, or indeed any day in the near future.
Due to ‘a very nice young man’ at the insurance company, who has taken pity on the, by now, tranquilizer and alcohol dependant Lovely One, the assessors are coming next Thursday to ascertain what needs to be done next.
They are unable to enter the building without being accompanied and as yet, no one has located the whereabouts of me fecking keys!
So, it would appear that One will be Christmassing in Salcombe and v prob New Yearing an’ all!
Yes, yes it is a simply divine gaff…
BUT I WANT TO GO HOME
I WANT TO GO NOW
Popped out while the housekeeping service came in to clean and change all the beds.
NO SHEETS ON ANY BEDS (or any left for the use of)
I fecking give up!!
PASS THE VODISHKA