I said a story would be posted, but that hasn't happened, and for once, not from my own laziness. After reporting signs of damp to the landlady, she promptly popped around and figured it might be coming in from the loft and that she'd be back on the monday. As promised she turned up, in tow was her father. She went to check the water cistern thingy-ma-bob in the place where nightmares are spawn, and whislt she was at that task I watched as her father went about tearing the wallpaper off the walls in our bedrrom checking for damp, (I decorated this year) so I was stunned and brow scratching. Then whilst unnatended some more he decided he liked hammers more than my bedroom ceiling and the wall itself and took it to task. At which point I ushered in the Landlady and asked if the place would be habitable. She was more than a little annoyed at the work he had set himself to.
So now we come home, cook in the kitchen, watch television in the lounge, have a whirlwind keep ourselves cosy and now go down two flights of stairs to sleep in another flat. Hence me not sticking to me word, but I've got some nice pictures for you to look at.
But it shall faze me not, nor will I mention the landlords in name, nor by company, because the landlady has been so apologetic, it's not her fault, just don't bring your dad to fucking work, nor out to pasture, bolt-gun and be done...
I'm on the second stage of nicotine patches, reckon the tobacco industry has meddled.