secret sharers

We found a place to live, just down the road. Unfortunately, other people were interested. A house-share of three 'professional' males, 'just like yourselves' as the estate agent put it. Just like ourselves, that is, except willing to pay more than the asking price. A bidding war loomed. Possibly with ourselves. What would the estate agent have said if we'd asked the names of these mysterious individuals? I imagine him stammering: 'Er... Mave, Doss, and Rartin'. But in fact, these mysterious others really are going to have the place, so presumably they do exist. Otherwise the scam has certainly gone too far.

As if this wasn't bad enough, I've had the landlady on the phone complaining about 'the pressure at her end'. Consult your GP, love, not me! I don't know or want to know what her pressing situation is, but I can't help but picture her in a small room with some very big men from the Russian mafia, tied to a chair. Maybe it just gives me satisfaction to do that. Serve her right for taking so long to fix the leak in our shower! Of course, she shouldn't be ringing me directly anyway, but I'm just too fucking polite not to speak to her. My mobile has the right idea - twice during her calls the battery has failed. Although in this case, a better word would be: 'succeeded'.

At work I find myself in the supremely ironic position of representing the store on the Forum, this thing set up to communicate the views of the workers to head office, a kind of trade union without the aggro (they hope). You're meant to be elected, but in the event I was simply the least unwilling. Well, I thought, at least it's a day out. With sandwiches. Imagine my consternation, then, when this document calling itself a 'toolkit' came through on an e-mail: pages and pages of skills you have to learn in order to be an effective representative. 'Active listening'. What's that? Wiggling your ears? I never could do that.