The magic of plastic

The car has been out of action for a few weeks. Fortunately my landlady has been giving me a ride to and from work, which has been really good. We both work at the same company. So it’s convenient. S thinks house share arrangements are destined for failure, and after about six months things start to fall apart. I’ve been in this arrangement for approaching that amount of time. Anyway, if all goes to plan my landlady expects to sell her house and my accommodation from under me within a few weeks. Anyway, Cooma Diesel rang to say the turbo had been repaired and was ready to pick up. So that meant another early morning bus ride to Fyshwick for me. And, oh wonderful credit card, the magic plastic saved the day; I could actually pay for the repair. A significant experience with this second trip, besides the turbo being nice and clean, was that when I got off the bus with it, I had to lug it from the bus stop to the workshop. It was only a little more than a 1 km walk, but by the time I got there, my arms felt as though they were about to fall off, and I felt as though I’d walked ten times that distance.

Our real estate agent was trying to talk S down in price, but she stood her ground. Setting the price to suit ourselves would allow us the opportunity to test the waters. To see how many bites we get from the punters. But the agent, no doubt, just wants a quick turn-a-round. Sell it within a fortnight, then move on to the next property, and the only way you can do that is to have a reduced selling price. It’s understandable from a real estate agent’s perspective; they only have eyes for their commission.

There is now a 2 metre wide pathway through the garage. That’s the best that can be done. There is a smell coming from the garage side board. Opps! That’s where the rats had taken up residence. I thought I had cleaned it.