…is the only line I think I remember from a Wilfred Owen poem about the trenches in the First World War that I read in school many many moons ago.
I think the poem was called Dulce et Decorum est, Pro Patria Mori… Or something along those lines. Forgive my spelling, I’ve never studied Latin and as usual I can’t be bothered looking it up… Actually I think that was also a line in the poem so maybe I think I remember two lines.
Anyway, that’s besides the point. My apologies for a recent lack of posts. Moved into my new apartment this weekend (and that’s a story for another time) and don’t get wifi until tomorrow evening, but I feel like I’ve been neglecting you, so thought I’d try a quick post from the iPhone app.
So this morning I walked out of my new front door(s) into a little communal hallway and smelt gas. After the effort of finding the place I didn’t want it to explode in the first week so messaged my flat mate in work to ask her what to do.
She called the emergency number (she’s Russian and hence far better equipped to do these things than I) and arranged for some chaps to come round. Meanwhile I had found a nice fellow downstairs and explained the situation… ish, and he’d come up and said it was just the neighbours (who hadn’t answered their door) cooking.
I told her to cancel the call-out, but she said they still needed to come so I could sign something to say they arrived… I prepared to be very embarrassed and hopelessly floundering in the deep end of the language pool.
They came, they smelt… nothing. They checked the other neighbour, then came into the flat to check the appliances.
And there WAS a leak on our cooker, so they got another man up to disconnect it, leaving me slightly less embarrassed but us now wifi and cooker-less.
That’s it… The WordPress app doesn’t let me put a pithy comment at the end in a vain attempt to make the reader chuckle.