Not being sure when Tigger would return, I prepared and ate lunch and then settled down to do a few things here are there.,

Then a text arrived. It was from Tigger. She was on the bus and proposed meeting me at the stop near our flat. That put me in a spin as I wasn’t expecting this and wasn’t ready. Anyway, to cut a long story short, I buzzed around like a bluebottle caught in a bottle and hurried to the bus stop. As it happened, I was in plenty of time.

Another text arrived, telling me which stop Tigger had reached, to give me an idea of how long she would be.

This caused me to reflect on the wonders of modern communications. I say “wonders” but do we wonder at them any longer? Surely, we now just take them for granted. I still remember a world in which mobile phones were not even a glint in someone’s eye; where “telephones” were attached to the wall with a yard of wire; and where Dick Tracey’s radio watch was dismissed as science fantasy, not something we would ever encounter in “real life”.¹

How did we arrange to meet people in those days and, more to the point, how did we let them know when we were going to be late or, worse, not even make the meeting at all? The answer, of course, is that we couldn’t do so. We would simply leave them hanging.

Computers and mobile phones have inserted themselves so firmly into our lives that they are virtually part of us, where we and they are in a symbiotic relationship in which each relies on and feeds the other and has no separate existence.

The bus arrives

The bus arrived; Tigger dismounted; we were together again. We made our way to Amwell Street, catching up with each other’s morning adventures.

I needed to visit the pharmacy and while I did so, Tigger bought the coffee at Myddelton’s. Then, coffee in hand, we hurried home. We have done what needed to be done and the rest of the day can take care of itself.

¹ I note, however, that in some circles, Dick Tracey is being credited as “the inventor of the smart watch”!

I mentioned yesterday that I was expectong a caller today. When the appointment was requested a few weeks ago, we thought about asking them to put it off for now but in the end, because the job has to be done within a time limit, and it causes minimal disruption, we decided to let it go ahead. And so the appointment was set for today.

As you will know – at least, if you are resident in the UK – every property has by law to have an annual gas inspection. It is the responsibility of the owner – in our case, the local council – to see that this is done. An engineer comes to inspect the gas boiler, the gas meter and any other gas appliances, to make sure they are safe and operating correctly. An inspection is due for our flat.

When arranging repairs, maintenance, gas inapections and so on, the council will never commit itself to a specific time of day. The best you can expect is a date and a choice of “morning” or “afternoon”. Our gas inspection this year, then, is set for July 15th (today) in the “morning”. In council terminology, “morning” is a period running from 8am to 1pm.

Accordingly, I rose from my bed at 6am so as to have all the chores done and myself washed and dressed by 8am. Not that I expect the engineer to ring the bell promptly at 8am but, on the other hand, that could happen and one must be ready in case.

Our flat is what a pushy property agent would describe as “a bijou apartment”. In common parlance, it is small. Very small. It can contain two people comfortably, leaving the enough room to dodge around one another but without much to spare. With three people, it begins to feel crowded.

Tigger therefore decided to absent herself until the job is done and normal occupancy levels restored. In the old times BC¹, on working days, Tigger was in the habit of going out early to have a cafe breakfast and to explore the city, taking photiographs. Today will be a happy reminder of those times with the added benefit of not having to go to work at the end of it! She is also hoping to have tea with a colleague. I will text her when the engineer has left.

It is now 8:13 and there has so far been no sign of the engineer. He will come – of that I am sure – but when is anybody’s guess.

———-

The doorbell rang just after 11am. I showed the engineer the gas boiler and explained where to find the gas meter (down in the basement “area” under the front steps). I also sent a text to Tigger to let her know.

I was hoping that the engineer would not be a short man. He seemed to me to be what is described as “average height” but that still wasn’t tall enough, apparently, tall enough, that is, to reach the top of the boiler.

This was confirmed by the request “Excuse me. Have you got something I could stand on?”

As it happens, we do have such a thing but it is a nuisance to get it out from behind the bedroom door and deploy it. Not to mention putting it away again. Hence my hope for a tall engineer. The only object in our possession that a man can safely stand on is an aluminium step ladder that we need when changing light bulbs in these high-ceilinged rooms.

I produced the ladder and left him to do whatever he needed to do with it. At 11:20, he announced that the job was done and all was well. I noted with approval that he had even put the step ladder away for me.

I sent Tigger a text to let her know that she could end her self-imposed exile whenever ready to do so.

Done and dusted until next year.

________

¹ “Before Covid”