Hot water

I’ve felt quite powerless this week and I haven’t liked it AT ALL.

There hasn’t been any hot water in my rental since Tuesday. This just wouldn’t happen if I owned the bloody place. Husband or I would have organised for it to be fixed lickety split.

Things don’t work like that in rental properties. Instead, you talk to the agent and the agent pops around for a gander and then a plumber pops around for a ponder. (And a panicked illegal dog pre-evacuation is organised with a divine school mum via phone prior.) And the plumber admits he can’t see anything wrong and maybe it was just a glitch and the hot water will probably be back in the morning. But the hot water isn’t back in the morning and you have to stick your head under the icy water for a quick rinse, followed by a brief APC, then head off to work feeling like you’ve been dragged through a bush backwards.

Then the owners needs to be contacted to give instructions on what to do next. Except they’re in Hawaii on holiday, where it’s much, much warmer than it is in my shivery bathroom.

Fark that shite. I really need to buy a bloody house tout suite. And it better have a bloody heated towel rail because I am fed up to the gills with bloody cold showers followed by bloody damp towels.

Except in my dodgy price range I’ll be lucky to score something with an internal bathroom.

But, oh yeah, life goes on.

And, despite the cold showers, my 10-day veil of misery is finally lifting after a succession of teary woe-is-me nights. Because you can’t keep me down. Oh no.

(Especially when an out-of-town bestie has promised to buy me crab cakes in 17 days time. Crab cakes are the ultimate panacea.)

There’s also an insane weekend to be tackled. It kicks off tonight with the kids’ band spectacular, then tomorrow I’m heading to a 50th birthday at the Maritime Museum,  then my parents are down for dinner, then on Sunday I’ve organised a Father’s Day brekkie with Husband (weird request on his part, but I’m just going with it), followed by beer can chicken at my sister’s ritzy reno, then a Dead Marines concert at the Petersham Bowlo with my former work buddy Corrine. No time for maudlin in all of that.

Song of the day: Donna Summer “Hot Stuff”