"Nothing great was ever achieved without enthusiasm." — Ralph Waldo Emerson
Remember Downstairs Owner? The one who gave me the keys to her flat, to the horror of us all? She's responsibly having some work done on the roof of her kitchen before the New Neighbor moves in because apparently it leaks and this was not ideal for her. (Sidebar: New Neighbor is moving in Saturday. I'm planning on making him wildly uncomfortable by bringing him homemade* welcome brownies.) Anyway, her kitchen forms our roof terrace, which meant that in order for the roofers to lay down the new concrete that would prevent rain from getting in her house, they had to pull everything off our terrace - from the decking to the planters full of dead bushes that I cultivated with the same finesse I do any green thing, namely, none, and how on earth did it die so fast - and none of this was a problem, because they would put back it all back in place when they were done.
Cue today: they are finished with her work and it's Put Back Our Stuff Time. Except rather than putting back our original decking, they appear to be out there installing NEW decking. I can tell, because this is blonde wood, and ours was black. Maybe they didn't think I'd notice. It's weirdly making me happy, because WHAT?!
In related news: last night I dragged A downstairs to check out the apartment. He was horribly, horribly uncomfortable using the key (I know, right) and made me hammer on the door for like five minutes, just to make sure nobody was in there. Then he spent the first thirty seconds yelling - as though we were in the middle of the world's loudest conversation - 'ALRIGHT, JUST MAKE SURE THEIR CEILING IS FINE!' like if someone was really in there, they'd be like, 'Oh, okay, they're just breaking into my house in the middle of the night to check on my kitchen. No problem.' It was hilarious. (Until he wouldn't let me play with anything.) I liked the space - it was tiny and dark and just what an old Victorian one-bedroom in London should be. I hope the new neighbor likes it, too, and invites us to his parties. He'll have to, because doesn't he remember when I brought him homemade* brownies?
You'll never guess where this photo was taken.
REDIRECT!** I keep reading all these articles lately about people whose lives have improved as a result of giving up coffee. I mean, yeah, but *pauses to chug third cup*
Sorry. Where was I?
Once I cooked with matcha powder (have I mentioned my friend's cookbook is coming out soon?) and that has to buy me some health points. *feels good about self, goes to turn on kettle*
Alright, I'm officially off the rails and should probably go do something that betters the world (or at least my flat). Laundry?
Big hugs and lots of love,
* Not homemade. What do I look like?
** You can tell I was an English major because I use really graceful transitioning techniques in my writing.