Temper Temper

It all started innocently enough. I was going on a butty run to the Italian bakers round the corner. Lunchtime. Sun's out. Sky's blue.

And sat there with his Cappuccino was the landlord. Ayup. How's tricks. Fine. Y'Alright? M'Alight...

Then it got a little wonky conversation wise. I couldn't help it. These dudes always get my goat.

Landlords. They always have some observation to make about the state of the plumbing, or some scratch on the garden gate they find suspicious. You can make small talk forever but the conversation will ALWAYS get around to talk about a stain on the kitchen worktop. Riveting eh?

Except that two days into our holiday we got the call from the dude who was minding the cat that this same landlord was prowling around the garden with a chainsaw muttering about an eviction. (The chainsaw was normal behaviour, by the way - he's a serial tree-lopper but more about that later...)

The other thing he's been up to is to move in to our biggest spare room as some sort of tax dodge. Apparently it was this or have our rent raised (he's a charmer!). So we go along with this - not expecting him to be pratting about with petty household repairs while we're away and of course indulging in another favourite landlord pastime - snooping around for damages.

And of course he found a couple of corkers.

In emptying the spare room of our bits and pieces he'd uncovered a few scratches on the tiles on the floor. He - in time honoured landlord fashion - felt duty bound to point out these scratches so that we might take steps to put this problem right. Otherwise it might effect our deposit. Did I understand.

Of course I understand! He wants me to employ some cowboy builder dudes to replace ten (count 'em) fake marble tiles. Oh. And somehow two of the fire alarms have been disconnected. I took a look. They clearly haven't worked since Maggie Thatcher came to power.

So there's me, bag of butties going stale in the bag, slowly reaching boiling point as this sad little freeloader lectured me about the importance of keeping the plug in the sink and I sorta lost it. In public. Big time.

This is the same idiot who chopped down half the trees in our garden while we were away. I'm not kidding. Proper full on apple trees that would keep Bulmers in business for a decade. What was going on in his tiny mind. We had a mature pear that last year gave us a ton of quality fruit. And this stupid pillock chops it down and slings it in a skip.

While we were away he has cut down the entire foliage down the side of the yard - so that the nice private back garden is now overlooked by just about everyone in the town. Topless sunbathing is so OUT dude...

So you understand why I exploded in this lunatic's face.

Anyone know of a cheap flat going in the Wakefield area??

Blogga.