My fur is shedding so much that F vacuum cleaned me today. It's ages since I got a good vacuum cleaning and I reckon at the rate my fur is shedding she should be doing it a couple of times a day.
She messes about and makes a sort of mohawk hair-do in the black stripe that follows my spine, but I flatten it down before she can get the camera out.
I don't want that around the internet.
The basement is flooded. I reported that a while back - wet to the elbows I was when I went down there to inspect. F reported it to the landlord, but no one has been to overhaul the bilge pump and float switch that is installed in a sump in one of the store rooms down there. F finally went down with a bucket and mop and tried soaking some of it up that way - a bit of a Sisyphean task if you ask me. After a couple of buckets a day of that it finally occurred to her to bail it out of the sump around the pump, and the rest will run from all over the basement floor into the hole she is trying to make in the centre.
Boating people know about bilge pumps and float switches, but as their lives might depend on such things they seldom let them get into the state this one appears to be in, so an overhaul might not be enough to bring it back to life.
Good thing we aren't sinking.
I think we aren't sinking.
Our basement has been carved out of solid rock. That's why it gets flooded; its a hole in a rock, with no natural outlet for water.
We shouldn't be able to sink.
We have a natural cistern - somewhere to collect and store rain water. I'm not sure anyone would want to drink or wash in it though.
Still, if you were under siege........
F has been suffering from sleep deprivation. We are under siege from noise. All curfews have been lifted and the boomcars and exhaust-less motorbikes continue all night - even at 4am. We have a fantasy - that we could unite all the people who live on this road and who get really annoyed with 'boomcars' and noisy motorbikes. It's a one-way street, so we could form a whatsapp (other communications apps exist) group, and someone at the start end could send us all a message that a noisy offender is on the way and we could line up on our balconies with all the rotten food waste we've been saving for just such an occasion and bury the boomcar in a deluge of fetid, slimy, stinking, sticky mess - cartons of sour milk, watermelons that didn't fit in the fridge (they eventually stink), rotting tomatoes, cucumbers that have been in the fridge too long, old custard, past it's best yoghurt.... F rather fancies blowing eggs (so as not to waste the egg), patching holes with bees wax and filling them with red paint.
It's amazing where fantasy will take you when your brain is screaming out for some undisturbed sleep.