Tangled Mind

Just to clarify:
- the car is not mine
- the garage behind it is (well, it's bugshaw's)
- parking on the access roads is not permitted
- the garage is tricky to get into at the best of times (see my car for details)
- my blood pressure is up and my car is parked miles away (Okay, about 0.25 miles. but still.)

Any ideas for how to stop this happening, and wreak an evil but legal revenge?

why do some cats adore the smell of bleach?

in other, though related news: am doing housewerk in advance of Property Inspection tomorrow. Cannot really be bothered. I will head them off by complaining about pathetic paint job in bathroom (if you wipe it with a cloth, it reveals the lurid orange beneath the magnolia); the window-frame that is still broken; inability to open most other windows; and, oh yes, the Neighbours.

... clothes that shrink when you do?

Things shrink in the wash sometimes. Result: clothes that are too tight.

We lose weight sometimes. Result: clothes that are too loose.

Imagine a laundry agent that shrank clothes by a specific amount -- say, an inch per 10 grammes. You'd add it to the washing machine when you washed those nice jeans that are a bit too big now. And your nice jeans would fit again. And you wouldn't have to give them to charity / save them for Fat Days / buy a pair in the next size down which seem to be a different shape.

(Imagine, also, the Hilarious Consequences if this additive made it into the general wash. Hmm, maybe it should be a pre-wash agent ...)

Follow-up to Going to the Dogs.

Just had a visit from a very distressed Mrs Neighbour, who clearly realises she shouldn't have told me that the agency didn't know ... This is her story and it corresponds with information I have from other parties:

- she and Master Neighbour, 14, used to live in Spain, where they had 4 cats and misc. reptiles etc. Had to come back from Spain due to family and financial stuff, leaving all the animals behind.
- council wouldn't house them together so Master Neighbour went to live with his father -- not a good idea apparently -- but father bought him a kitten. Kitten didn't make up for major problems between father and son but Master Neighbour was devastated at having to leave it behind, and still visits though he can't stand his dad.
- Mr Neighbour, meanwhile, was going through messy divorce and living in camper van with his dogs. For eighteen months. (I do wonder if the dogs are simply unhappy at not having a human in their sleeping space.)
- This is their first home together as a family.
- They'd looked at a lot of places that were 'horrid' but this flat is lovely and they thought the cellar (heated, lit and ventilated) would be good solution to the ABSOLUTELY NO ANIMALS rule the letting agency have imposed. (The upstairs flat has been gutted and redecorated. I have no such rule in my lease, though had to pay a deposit against Animal Damage.)
- They had no idea that the noise carried so clearly into my flat. (Mrs Neighbour looked horrified when, standing in my hallway, she heard how clearly it carried.)
- Master Neighbour v upset at the thought of having to leave.
- Mr Neighbour v upset at the thought of giving up his dogs.
- Mrs Neighbour v upset at both of the above but would rather move than have the dogs continue to cause me sleepless nights.

Prime motive obviously to persuade me not to shop them to the letting agency; but I do sympathise.

We've agreed that I will let them know if (if! when) I'm disturbed by the dogs again: if the problem persists, Mr Neighbour will use his trade contacts to get the cellar professionally soundproofed.

Also, Master Neighbour would adore the opportunity to feed Sam and Shiva* whenever I am away. Any time. No problem.

*who came and sucked up shamelessly to Mrs Neighbour while we were talking. Yep, even Shiva.

How long might one expect it to take dogs to settle down in a new home?

I have new neighbours, upstairs. Neighbours have dogs. Dogs are unhappy. Loudly, eerily, vocally unhappy at 2:15am, 4:40am and 6am.

was about to go out for some, but it seemed to be full of sharp bits and wet stuff and horizontal botany. The garden looked like one of those Rousseau paintings of Exotic Weather. The wind was playing tunes in the chimney. The tree-swing was possessed.

In other news, I still feel rough but perhaps not as rough. Well, being online is not hurting my head yet. (Though this may change depending on how I filter my LJ reading.)

In other other news, I finally have a fuseboard in my flat! This is getting on 3 months after the incident in which the builders upstairs switched off my electricity and did not notice. Not to be confused with the water-through-the-ceiling episodes, the second of which has not yet been fixed, grrrrr. (Have not really been in a fit state to chase 'em this week.)

In other^other news, the fuseboard will not actually work until they have switched off the power, done stuff for a few hours and switched it back on.

In not-news-at-all, I have a vague memory of frantic deadlines last week.

All of the above makes me inclined to go to werk tomorrow. Even if briefly.

I have just purchased a multi-tool set from Robert Dyas. It is PURPLE. (Yay!) It consists of drill, screwdriver, hammer, tape-measure, pliers and spirit level. (I am disappointed to see that the fluid in the spirit level is not PINK.)

I purchased this because (a) I do not have an electric drill (b) I had a £5-off voucher (c) I want to drill holes in things (d) the tools have grips designed for smaller hands (e) PURPLE.

There is, however, an Initiative Test.

The whole thing is attractively packaged in a metallic silver case, with plenty of superfluous plastic. And covering the tools is a thick moulded layer of clear plastic. Which is held in place by ...

... eight Philips screws.

I did consider being Authentic and using a nail file, a kitchen knife or one of those diddy screwdrivers you get in Christmas crackers. Or falling back on my usual resort in Insufficiently Tooled situations ("nolley! I need some screwing!")

But it would have taken too long, so I used my non-PURPLE non-powered non-branded screwdriver.

Give me another Gender Stereotype. I've got a hammer now.

What's that quotation about how quickly civilisation would decay without electricity? (Have been googling for some time: suspect it's phrased differently.)

I got home yesterday to find that nearly all my electricity had been cut off. The lights still work, but that's it: plug sockets, oven, boiler, all non-functional.

My fusebox is in the hall of the upstairs flat, to which I do not have a key. The builders do, though. And the lack of electricity is almost certainly due to something they've done, whether switching off the wrong switch or blowing something Important.

Rang the letting agency's emergency line: no, they couldn't do anything as they didn't have keys to upstairs either.

Walked off my bad temper (this took some time), came home, compiled a mental list of things I'd have done if I had power (eaten a hot meal, had a cup of tea, done the washing up, put on a load of laundry, had a bath, checked email, ranted on LJ, uploaded Lille photos, ripped new CD, listened to new CD [ok, could have done this in the car], watched DVD, charged mobile, drunk cold wine), went to bed with candles, a book and tepid pink drink.

Luckily the swimming pool opens early, so I had a swim and shower pre-werk.

The letting agency, to whom I have spoken three times so far today, are very apologetic and will compensate me for food in fridge/freezer; will provide a key so I can access the magic box; are sending someone round to sort it out; will do their best to ensure it doesn't happen again.

One day I would like to wake up (to Radio 3, rather than the shrill twittering of my PDA alarm) and have nothing to sort out.

.. spent thinking, writing, reviewing*, reading, swimming, and Being Outdoors.

I haven't had my own Outdoors (i.e. a space I can do with more or less as I will, that starts off with little or nothing) for ... hmm, forever. (The garden in Sussex was lovely but Not Mine. And too big. Before that, my Outdoors was Greenwich Park. Before that, Wandsworth Common. OK-ish fire-escape-cum-balcony in New Malden but what with it being a fire escape with a view of the railway, possibilities were limited).

I have a patio and a verandah. Yesterday, I moved a chair and a 'table' out there. Today, I swept / weeded / bought and hung a clothesline (My First Clothesline!) / washed tiles / de-littered. And I've only come indoors because it's too dark out there to type ...

For explanation of icon, and International Pixel-Stained Technopeasant Day, look here.

Next: CIDER. Yay!

* reviewing on my book blog is its own reward when within a couple of hours there's a friendly comment from the author <g> despite the fact I was not 100% positive!