Let the Skyfall

Oh the temptation, my latest enquiry is from an acupuncturist with some other esoteric speciality like cranial sacral therapy and he's studying Chinese medicine,  imagine having that on hand, in your actual house.  It's only just dawned on me, what I need to advertise for is a tenant who's a personal trainer, facialist, hairdresser and wardrobe stylist, with a car and we can share driving each other (not mad). I'd actually cut the rent in half for all that. Whereas what I really need is a damn publisher and concentrate on writing the next book. You see this is a bit of a dream world, in which a blog becomes a vehicle for all your wishes and you can try that whole visualising thing, where dreams are made real.

So, I should begin the letter from an Irish mother to her second son.... ‘I'm sorry pet but reinstatement to your room might have to wait. And because you're such an understanding, insightful philosophical student with a sharp grasp of economics you'll get this and thank me for it one day. It will give you the hunger to strive, to achieve, to buy that brownstone in New York with the granny flat.’

Ironically, first son much prefers his new arrangement in the penthouse/attic, he has a much bigger space, a TV his brother has to request use of and, worst of all, with no spare room for his visiting girlfriend she has nowhere else to stay other than his room. And I don’t think he’s sleeping on the sofa.

Lodger No.2 is excited about a house he's just seen in Ranelagh, sharing with a photographer, very cool place he says, I think it's the right move, for all of us. And he wants us to stay friends, it was a short reasonably pleasant lesson for both of us. And the boiler miraculously started working again today before the engineer came, bringing all the relief I needed that both lodgers will be warm and, hopefully, happy.

So, while the chicken lickens run amok telling us the sky will fall in, we will admire the horizon where the sea that separates us from the rest of the world meets the sky that hovers over all of us and only look at the blue bits.

Pot Boilers

It had to happen sooner or later. I've navigated the last six winters without boiler failure, or boiler service. As a woman, the service or maintenance of something that hasn't broken down, ie. a car or life-giving heating appliance is an option rather than an annual event. There are must-haves at 250 euro way up the list, well, there were.

In the six years since new boiler was installed to cater to the extension that is my workplace and cause of debt it has been exemplary, the only crib being the exorbitant cost of gas in this country. But as soon as cold Latvian lodger moves in, it goes on the blink. I've been getting up at 6.30 last two days to kick start it. I'd kick it if it wasn't so high. An entire morning was spent trying to find a service engineer who would touch it, 'oh that one, no, you'll have to get on to someone in Kerry,' I heard three times. As for Bord Gais, they must be the only call centre where they give their surname as well when they greet you after the twenty minutes of Greensleeves and ads for their efficiency. Clearly, shopping around is my thing, so on to the afternoon calls and back to Kerry.

I'm sure lodger no. 2 thinks it's a conspiracy to freeze him out, well that was a thought. But it's not working, he's being very understanding and each time I'm about to have 'the talk' who arrives only Absentee BF. Always welcomed but now he's added two days to the awkward moment. Men and their timing, if Carlsberg made them, I'd like mine a microwave, put him on at a 1000 watts, heat him up for 2 minutes and savour a warm dish watching the Oscars with a glass of chianti.... something like that.

I'll be waiting in for a three hour window for Kerry serviceman to call tomorrow. Well, truth be told, I'll be re-writing each word of my novel as usual. ABF is on a plane somewhere and lodger no. 2 is already vacuuming his room, being super-tenant. I'm particularly worried that the house won't be all warmed up for lodger no. 1's return from the UK between his ski trip to St Manton. That's St Anton in Austria where there's 10 men to every woman in the apres ski bar. See, timing, it's ski heaven for women.

My own timing was pretty bad this morning, telling CC# 2 he could have his old room back as it was affecting his studies being stuck in the linen cupboard and sharing a bathroom with his mum. I could see an immediate change in his lacklustre humour, with the hope of having somewhere to study for his finals and a bathroom to trash again. Now I have to stick to that plan and abandon the rental of the master en-suite. But desperado that I am, I've my eye on the linen cupboard which is a perfectly nice single room, I could possibly put a student into. The kind you make packed lunches and dinner for. Have I become a complete masochist or slave to the bank? 

As I sit and watch the Oscars, Lodger No. 2 comes into tell me he's had a look at two other places. Be still my beating heart, he's taken it on board himself. Bless, and worse, says, he didn't like them, 'because you've spoiled me.'

Body and Soul, Heart and Home

Let’s get the landlady bit out of the way first. Lodger No.2 is still here but we’ve had the start of ‘the talk’. Thankfully, I didn’t have to bring it up. On Saturday he told me he needed the heating on during the night because his kidneys were delicate, he pointed at a place on his side, I reckon he meant kidney. And he can’t afford to get cold. I began to feel like a Valkyrie, not in the Brunhilde sort of way, but like a really strong woman who can withstand the privations of an Irish winter. Plus we all know that constant central heating is DREADFUL for your skin, never mind the lethargy. If it comes to my skin or his kidneys, well, you can guess. I kept the heating on all weekend and feel like a prune today.

By Sunday it was a case of, when all else fails, consult the last-hope oracle, my horoscope read 'insights emerge from overwhelming unfair situations.... ' I felt an insight beginning already, the problem was the house, not totally the cold-blooded tenant and his marathon cooking or me and ‘my kitchen to myself’ issue. It’s too open-plan, not only hard to heat but foul-smelling cooking will fill the place with fetid fumes for hours. Lodger No. 2 needs a small, well insulated apartment, like the one he had in Latvia and tells me about all the time.

I took myself to a Body and Mind or Soul or something class in UCD, not recommended after a late Saturday night, a lot of downward dog involved, so I was pretty pleased with myself for staying in the night before and finding the movements were manageable. Even better, I met a friend who just joined the gym, seeing as she’s the artist-in-residence in UCD, she’ll be out there quite a bit. I look forward to seeing what comes from her year collaborating with a geo-physicist on a theme she’s explored recently, quite beautiful pieces evocative of Icelandic volcanoes.  http://www.siobhanmcdonald.com/

Back to landladyland and I hope I can find Lodger No.2 the ideal alternative accommodation or hope he’s started to search already, because last straw was taking over the kitchen for two hours on Sunday evening. At least it was after the Scotland match, which wasn’t worth watching anyway.

I’m going to have to re-think this whole second bedroom rental situation. Much to my bank manager’s chagrin, but even she said she wouldn’t share her home. Six nights bed and breakfast would yield the same as one tenant for a month. I rang Huggy the builder and asked if he had any rooms in his houses. When we worked out the cost of extra heat and gas, the rent works out at 15 euro per day. That just doesn’t add up.

I’ll soon be back looking for a co-habitable tenant, a busy travelling man or woman who doesn’t like to cook. And just needs a base where I’ll happily wash and dry their clothes, seeing as I have to do it for my sons. I saw an ad for the perfect tenant, she travels to India a lot, the only problem was she wanted to move her two cats in as well. If there is one thing my dog and I are agreed on. Cats not allowed anywhere near us.

PEN Pals

I have a relationship manager in my bank; I wonder if she does call-outs and will she manage random relationships between me and others or is it just a special one-on-one with her? Because there’s one or ten I’d like managed rather than deal with myself.

She’s been on to me quite a bit recently, a minor issue of policy changes in the bank, sole traders like me can’t have an overdraft if we’re not, em, actually, trading.  In a seemingly effortless series of events she is giving me a loan instead, with, she assures me, super low interest and none of this has involved filling in a form. I need only pop in to sign my acceptance. So in I pop to her office yesterday afternoon for a chat, where I realise she’s up to date on my novel, my tenants, both of them, and sure I thought, why not tell her about the blog as well. Any sign of a possible book deal and my bank manager’s eyes are lighting up with the idea of actual deposits returning to the coffers. She tells me her own blog idea which is quite smart, only she got too lazy. That’s the trouble, you have to put it together every day or so, and suddenly it becomes addictive. There are days when I think absolutely nothing happens, and it’s only when I start to write that I realise how much actually goes on, even just thinking about other people brings rich material.

Last night I went to the Irish PEN dinner in honour of John Banville. I'd never been to this annual bash before and imagined all sorts of aging, erudite and eccentric writers, publishers and agents. I called my favourite taxi man and set off for the Royal St. George in Dun Laoghaire. All was well until I tried to pay him with my credit card and it was declined, oh no, a new crisis, I thought. Forgetting that I no longer have the massive limit I never needed, it had just reached its new low limit. So, thank you, let’s call him Mr De Niro, for discounting my fare.

The dinner was graced by glamorous women, one more glittering than the next and, being a novice in this esoteric world, I was glad to find I knew one or two. Such was the persuasive guile of some of the girls that I may even have volunteered for a committee. Not everyone there was published, some, like me were wondering if they ever would, it is such a bewildering business, but comforting to be part of the great unknowns. 

I sat between lovely women, one a dear friend, with whom I shared the walk to Scoil Bhride when our children were very young, and the other a fetching barrister who really must start her own blog, I suggest Blonde Momshell at the Bar.

Back home, Lodger No. 2 arrived soon after me, I was in the kitchen musing and playing three games of scrabble on line, still in my party dress and big jewellery. I’d say I probably looked relaxed. We had tea and a bit of a chat and next thing I was making him a hot water bottle.

Maybe I won’t feel so bad when I get the opportunity to discuss our parting. I hope.