Drip

To quote the much missed Kirsty McColl '''I hate fucking folk music.''
You may recall that Kirsty was the daughter of Ewan McColl the purist old style folk singer.

So, one BIG advantage of Kev's long stay in Spain is that ....

... is not playing the guitar upstairs.

Early this morning I received the daily - RUOK/What's the weather like?/ Roger and out - phone call from Spain. I tried not to sound too elated by the news that it was raining in Catalunya.

Then I went to the bathroom and saw water dripping through my ceiling - obviously coming from Kev's empty flat upstairs.

Fortunately, I have Kev's key - so that I can care for 'mum's plant'. His mother died 12 years ago but the plant (weeping fig) is still going strong.

On entering Kev's bathroom I see that his ceiling is bubbling and the foor is - well - swimming.

Ian lives above Kev.

If Ian should decide to sell up, I suppose his flat would be described in 'Estate agent speak' as a penthouse. But he won't move because he'd have to relocate all his brownish straggly plants from the windowsill. I think he was smoking some of them last night because he took ages to answer the phone this morning.

He finally did and grunted that he'd get back to me.

He didn't.

I sat and seethed. I had plans for this morning - NO not Top Shop....there was River Island as well

So I decided to have my bath. It was like having a bath and a shower at the same time.

Eventually, Ian rang back. He told me (with numerous apologies) that he'd placed a bucket in a crucial position and that his brother was a plumber.

Shame about Kev's ceiling.

Now - How shall I break the news when I get the next call? Should I be sympathetic, angry or icy cold?
KAZ