Thursday, 15 April 2010
The landlord pays a visit. He is pushing 80, with no family or friends and another ten properties like ours, worth a million each. If it wasn’t for the fact he was a mean-spirited chauvinist, we could be friends.
He examines our cooker, a clapped-out heap of junk that probably came with a free Soda Stream. I have cranked it up to 200 degrees but it is only blowing out cold air. Not great for chips. I tell him I need it working quickly because I was planning on sticking my head in it.
'Pardon me?' he says, adjusting his hearing aid.
'I'm just missing chips,' I say.
He promises to return and fix the element. Getting a new cooker out of him was always going to be a long-shot - this is a man who is happy to make do with his ten-year-old rusty Volvo. At least he didn't notice the broken coffee table.