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Cinnamon patrol

Mr and Mrs Lili Wedding



I've been without hot water since last Monday. I prepare myself for my shower with a fair amount of strategising, then a pep talk. Once in, I need to maximise usage of the one minute's worth of tepid water. Soap flies everywhere and then the cold water comes like a bite to the kidneys (actually, there's no need for the metaphor - it is a bite to the kidneys). And no water means no central heating. All in all it's a fairly miserable way to start the new day, and combined with fairly lackluster weather, it makes one reluctant to get out of bed. At least it would if it wasn't for the refrigerated trucks that park right outside the bedroom window to offload food and beer to the pubs and restaurants. Halcyon times.

So I called the property manager this morning for a tête-à-tête. We know each other well because we are united in a mission top open an NTL cabinet on the 3rd floor. It was good news on all fronts; the hot water crisis was, at that very instant, being attended to by a crack team of the city's finest plumbers, and in the best tradition of Irish pragmatism, he's decided to bash the door of the cabinet in - meaning we can finally get broadband and cable TV. The hot water problem had something to do with council work on the water pipes on our street. Something was chipped or broken. Thousands of liters of my shower water were pouring into a fissure.

I came home today and felt up the pipes - true to his word they were hot to the touch and just as well because its been a cold day and the apartment really benefited from a blast of heating. Man! it's nicer to turn the heating on rather than to wear a second pair of trousers.

Tonight I went to yoga. I go here. It's pretty good. It's small. There are no changing rooms and no incense. But it's nice. The teacher is nice. And a girl from accounts goes too. I need to recondition myself after my illness.



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