He felt that his whole life was some kind of dream and he sometimes wondered whose it was and if they were enjoying it.

Douglas Adams

(The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy)

Revelation 1: Landlord is on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

Of this I am almost certain. I am not one prone to making unfounded accusations (cough cough), but I think my Landlord is on the verge of having a massive freak-out. This might explain the robe. And the fact that he was running around in his undies the other night. (Although the reason behind this could have been a missing replacement robe, which could lead to the paradox of the reason for being the cause of. Um. Right.)

The doorbell rung the other night and as I was waiting for Kate I went to answer. A person of intermediate gender was stationed in the frame, cell-phone in hand, with the most self-pitying expression that I have ever seen. It asked to see Paul (Landlord) - establishing through its voice that it was in fact female - and leading me to assume that she was a welcome guest. I allowed her into the house, whereupon she asked me to go and call him for her. Realising this was rather strange, I decided to let him deal with it. I knocked on his door. Again. Then again. He did not answer. Tony passed me on the way up to his room and asked me who this woman was. She was helping herself to coffee and had asked him to bring her a mug. I told Tony that she was looking for Paul. Tony knocked on Paul’s door. Paul answered (in his robe). I told him who was waiting for him downstairs. He shrank back into his room. He flinched. He paled. It was a soundtrack moment. I asked him if I should tell her to leave. He said he would take care of it. I retreated to my room.

A few minutes later there was a wail.

“Paaaawellll!”

It was the woman.

“This is my (only child) house!” the Landlord said sternly, his voice echoing through the short hallway and climbing the staircase to the ears of all who were listening to the exchange.He wasn’t thinking about them. He was thinking about how to remove the woman as quickly as possible. “Don’t cause a scene.”

“I’m not causing a scene,” the woman whined, sounding as though she was clutching for a lifeline that was being pulled away from her - inch by inch - out of reach.

“Leave.”

The Landlord was not interested in hearing what she had to say. He had heard the same story a thousand times. There was no entertainment left. Only a box of cigarettes waiting for him in his private lounge. How many were left? Would there be enough? He doubted it.

“But Paaaawllll!”

“Go,” he said, managing to maintain the same sombre tone. “Just leave.”

A couple of days later he told me that he’s not in the habit of cooking only for one. Yesterday morning I’m sure that I heard her saying goodbye as she left his room. Hhhmmm. Will try to get to the bottom of this mystery.

Revelation 2:Murphy is laughing at me. Constantly.

1. I threw gravy at the fridge. The fridge was undeserving (as was the gravy), but the lid slipped off as I was sliding the container onto its shelf and I literally shoved it into the inside of the fridge. There was brown goo everywhere. Everywhere. I had to wash out the whole fridge. And was allowed to do so again the next day for the Health Officer.

2. I threw carrots at the fridge. Dammit! The lid again. I was digging bits of cooked carrot out from under the shelves, as the Health Officer was to stop by in the morning. The carrots were giving me cheek. They deserved their fate, their peril, their untimely end. However you put it, the slippery little suckers got what they deserved.

3. My bus brokedown. Twice. In the same morning. The first I boarded cut out continually. The replacement died about halfway and we just missed the one which had gone on to Yelverton (my bus destination). Waited for a half-hour in the cold. Finally decided to sit in the broken down bus with the old people. My arse (ha ha ha he ha) had barely touched the seat before the driver told us that our transport had finally arrived. I couldn’t get hold of Jimmy. In surprisingly high spirits, I walked to Meavy. When I arrived, I was scolded for being late. When I looked at the roster - and this is the real corker folks - I saw that I wasn’t working that day. At all. Beyond words.

The V.I is getting on. He told Tracy, the woman who does the cleaning, that he can vacuum better than she can. She told him to fuck off. He ate some cheesy chips, and felt better about life as he made his way along the winding road (singular) of Meavy.

BlackSheep out.

=)