* 31st Jan 2010 THE MAN OF MY DREAMS WON'T COME BACK

* Sun 31st Jan 2010
☆•.¸¸THE MAN OF MY DREAMS WONT COME BACK¸.♥´´¯`•.¸¸.☆•.¸¸.☆

UPDATE
The house move has been delayed until the 8th Feb. That's because the tenant who was in the apartment before me did a runner and had not bothered to cancel his phone, heating, satellite and broadband providers.

No provider will provide to me unless the previous tenant cancels his agreements... OR, I take out longer-than-usual contracts (What a scam)and be physically present at the empty apartment when their servicemen come to disconnect the previous tenant and connect me...and I tell you this for free: the Custy Ninja Granny is jollywell NOT taking up residence in an apartment until the heating has been switched on.
I learned my lesson well from the SofaNest days in The Great 2010 Cold Snap. No heating twice in one winter? No, never, ever. Not on your Nellie.
(I must remember to Google that saying. Who was Nellie? Is Nellie another name for a bottom? How did that come about? Does anyone know? Why do I want to know anyway?)

THE GOLDEN ROSETTE FOR MOP WORK
Saturday the 30th January was an interesting day. (That's how I've started referring to days that are just plain bloody, horrible, chaotic and everything kicks off.)

It started early in the morning when I went through to the kitchen to prepare the first caffiene injection. The kitchen faces out on to the communal parking area for our quiet little close. The area is lit by an orange street lamp.
Yes, I can hear you saying, that's interesting, but not really THAT interesting.

Well, it is precisely because that light is on, shining into my kitchen, that the following "interesting" chain of events took place, so stop thinking your own thoughts, and pay attention to mine - before I'm forced to get busy with the Ninja-Stix.

Hard to admit, but sometimes I am not utterly gorgeous first thing in the morning. Just sometimes. Not often. Hardly ever. Utterly gorgeous first thing in the morning, before that first caffeine injection.

I might, for instance, have on an old and holy pair of PJs on.(Not "Holey" but "Holy" as in, "Good Heavens Above. Bless me! Her bottom's peeking though that rip in the pant's seam? Good Lord!)

My hair might not be sleek and glamourous. It might just be sticking up at every angle known to Archimedes. I might be yawning without putting a hand over my mouth, and I might be scratching my tummy and having a stretch.

I might want the pleasure of standing there, relaxed and half-awake, before I've fully come to, with my hair like Animals, scratching away. (I know, good thing I'm not a man is what you're thinking, otherwise the neighbours would be treated to the sight of me standing there, scratching my nuts.)

However, I might not want to switch on the kitchen light and have my neighbours see me like that. This is where the orange street light comes in very handy.

So, I walked in to the kitchen by the orange glow of the street lamp and got busy with the kettle. It took a little while for it to sink in that as I walked the two steps from the kettle to the sink my slippers made a noise.
Left sliiper "Splish!"
"Stonk" .. That's just my walking stick, and we will ignore it from now on.
Right slipper "Splosh!."
I stopped. Silence!
I spun around, "Sloosh!"
I wiggled my right foot around, "Sloshy-sploshles!"
No longer feeling so considerate towards my neighbours, I moved quickly over to the kitchen light, "Splish! Splosh! Splish!"
In bright kitchen light I could see the kitchen floor.
"Oh! Sh*t!"
It was a lake.

The problem with the pressure in the new, wider pipes and their old Nemesis, the smaller junction with the washing machine pipe, had happened again. The joint had popped another leak.

I decided just to make coffee, dry my feet and ignore the lake for another 10 minutes. After all, Pa'rick the Plumber, man of my dreams, 4'9", bald, owl-eyed and bow-legged would not be answering any phone calls until 11 a.m. on a Saturday. (Friday nights is, apparently, his night "off" and is spent getting hammered with his mates at some far-flung hostelry. I had been warned about this when he casually handed over his business card and said, enticingly, "Call me anytime, except Friday nights etc.etc....)

(It is now Monday, and the man of my dreams has yet to appear. He has been phoning, give him his due.He phones every time he can't make our date. He does care. It's just that he's so very busy, but he always tells me that it really matters to him. )

MOP WORK - GOLDEN MOP AWARD

After I had drunk that first cup of coffee, I put on my wellies and decided on a career change. I had previously been going for the "Crutchwork, Certificated Member" but realised that, at the moment, I would get more practical experience at "Mop Work".

The course has been difficult, with extra points to be awarded for: sopping up behind the fridge but managing to leave the Junk mail and Council circulars that-have-fallen-down-there in place; getting under the veg rack whilst not bruising the potatos; drying under the washing machine and finding all the odd socks that have hidden under there.

I have been practising for the last four days on the kitchen floor, and can now report that Ninja-Gran has just been awarded the GOLDEN MOP FOR SUPERIOR MOP-WORK.

I am so proud. I can't wait for Pa'rick to come and fix the leak. Once he's finished fixing it, I shall introduce him to the Golden Mop... Intimately.

Have a superlovely delicious day, my friends
xxx The damp, very crusty, Ninja-Granny

PS A great bed-time read. If you are ever lost for something soporific to read, I refer you to this link. (The only read better than this is Churchill's ~Volume II of his War Memoirs. I have never, ever got past page 3... thus making it my personal very best bed-time book.)
http://www-history.mcs.st-and.ac.uk/HistTopics/Trisecting_an_angle.html