That’s you, that is, Dear Reader, (see above) celebrating en mass, as One has finally let the spare room and is in possession of a wedge that will go immediately to pay the mortgage. Not a moment too soon, Dears, as yesterday the blighters gave me ten days to pay or they would start repossession.
Just like busses, two prospective tenants came along at once…
‘I need to live in Wiveliscombe for personal reasons,’ said a mysterious sounding sort, when One innocently enquired why someone working in South Molton would want to live here.
Mmmm, thought One, she sounds like hard work, but then, a bloke appeared in the inbox and what a dysfunctional, ‘stuff in the back of the car’ type he sounded. That’s the one for One, thought One, and indeed, upon perusal of the spare room he’s moving in today.
That’s One back on the futon in the tiny room then. Oh well, c’est la vie.
So, today, One shall mostly be deep cleaning the Underground Lair in preparation for his arrival this evening.
Echoing the Admiral of the Fleet, the new tenant, who shall be known as DN, said to One…
‘You might need to show me how the washing machine works.’
What is it with these chaps? Do they think it makes them look attractive/desirable/helpless etc.
It does bring out the latent mummy/housewife in One though, so One expects that One will be making sure he’s got clean pants on before he goes out in case he gets run over.