What we need is a maternal type

The tap-tap-tap is back. Despite my protestations (“I’m ill, I got back at half-past-twelve last night”) I get up at 8:00 anyway and write yesterday’s entry. On a whim I decide to add a couple of words to Saturday’s entry and wipe the whole thing. Some of you might remember the original version of Saturday’s entry which stretched way past the column of pictures down the right-hand-side of the page.

So to sum up: Arse.

In addition, they’ve decided that they still haven’t done quite as much drilling as they might out there. What we need is a maternal type who’ll tell them not to start another job until they’ve finished the last one, but instead we have chaps in hard hats digging holes, losing interest before they get round to filling them in again and wandering away to dig another hole. Anyway, the drilling is distracting.

So today I allow myself to be properly ill, and slob around, or at least slob around as much as I can given that the only seating space is the drum stool next to the computer.

And I receive a lot of telephone calls – my accountant asking where my accounts are; someone who needs my assistance at printing something out (which I’m not really in a position to give, but I profer advice on juggling system extensions, which in this case might be as useful); John calls off the sextet rehearsal on account of the growing Lurgi problem; Various others. I try to have a lie down but the ringing phones put me off.

In the evening I pluck up the courage to go upstairs and ask the woman about the leak that’s still steadily dripping into my flat. I have to wait outside the door for a long time because I seem to have managed to choose a time when she was in the bath. I tell her about the dripping and ask whether she can look for a leak. There’s no leak. I’m allowed to grope around under the water tank to prove it to myself, and there’s no sign of damp. This is quite disturbing, because now I have no idea where it might be coming from, and might as well have an exorcism as anything else, for all the good that will be done.