Nice weather for ducks.
The Panster got home last night to find some unusual meteorological conditions – to whit it was raining in his living room. A quick check revealed fm1 on the roof with an emergency plumber. At some point during the day the 1½ inch water pipe from the building water tank had sprung a leak, and physics being physics the water had proceeded to follow gravity and deposit itself downstairs. And this isn’t clean water. Well it was probably clean in the tank but after it’s been filtered through 2 false ceilings and 100 years of dust and pigeon shit it was the colour of iced tea. Or in fact any tea. The smell was pretty special as well. To cut a long story short, things that will need to be done are :-
- All carpets replaced
- One quite expensive rug replaced
- Ceiling pulled down and rebuilt
- One wall re-plastered
- Sofa replaced
- TV replaced
- Video replaced
- Digital Box replaced
- Completely rewired
- Total redecoration
No 1 :
Note the phrase “building water tank”. Indeed. None of this is Pan’s responsibility and we were just about to redecorate anyway. So for putting up with a bit of inconvenience we get a nice new living room, hopefully for nowt.
No 2 :
Pan rules the gym!
Actually he doesn’t but following a gym session yesterday of unusual length and pain inducing intensity Pan was today victorious in producing a rowing session of not only noticeably less agonising than normal, but also easily his best ever performance. OK, an improvement of 1.5% may not sound like much, but when you are really trying to push it out that’s quite a bit. Probably more of a psychological breakthrough, but it’s all good.
And as if that wasn’t enough of a thrill looking in the mirror today there was very much the premonition of . . . dare I say it . . . the outline of what . . . might be . . . some sort of . . . abdominal musculature. ‘AVE IT!
- Stop worrying about the gym
- Do something about these mood swings. Paroxetine perhaps?
- Stop referring to myself in the third person. Pan thinks it make you sound like a whack-job. Or at the very least like a raving egomaniac.