Faith in humanity only semi-restored. A good thing I hadn't gone upstairs in person to see what had been done before I gave them the bottle of wine to say thank you for moving the blasted antenna.
Numb n*ts decided the easiest thing to do with my clothes line was to simply cut it down, and leave it there. It was wire and simply wound around like a giant twist tie. Not exactly tricky to undo and redo. Simpler though to just cut it.
Can you imagine going into a communal space and simply cutting down someone else's clothes line cause you were too lazy to undo it and do it up again?
On that note, he also left all his garbage up there for me to clean up: bolts, washers, bits of plastic, cut off electrical ties, old bits of wire, the ends of my clothes line.
Not exactly a good neighbourly approach, no?
Fortunately I am a handy-dandy sailor girl and with a bit of line and three minutes I had the line functional again.
The landlords did the same thing. (The garbage, not the clothes line).
Remember that leak? They finally came back and painted something or other on the roof, and left behind:
1 pot for I know not what
1 half used gallon can of paint with the lid ajar
1 stir stick, used.
I have waited a month for them to come and cleaned it all up but they haven't, so today I threw it all out...it does boggle the mind though. Can you imagine being a landlord and leaving your crap behind for the tenants to clean up?
Sometimes I do not understand the people here.
Numb n*ts was up there again, tinkering, at lunch time. I went up to make sure that he hadn't cut the line again and left all my clean laundry on the grubby terrace floor...pleased to say that he hadn't, and that he had retied it to a place he preferred for working on his antenna. I did not mention the garbage, nor the cut line, and he did not apologize for cutting it!
I have started another portrait, not of anyone in particular, on a daring, blinding underpainting of bright searing red.
I am finding that I am not fond of the opaqueness of the paint and I have to re-learn how to handle it; or just go all Rothko-esque and work in glazes...