The Builder ambled out the other morning, ready to trundle off to Rampton, and found on his windscreen a note. A note that had been carefully enclosed in a plastic wallet. "Please do not park outside our house," said the note. "If you park your van outside our house then we can't park our car there and residents are entitled to park outside their own homes. This is a busy area for parking; please find somewhere else". Silly, silly people. The Builder has decided to park outside their house whenever he possibly can on Friday evenings. The van doesn't usually then get moved again until Monday. It seems, talking to Steve and Debbie next door, that it was these people who nagged the council to have double yellow lines put along a significant section of kerbing because people would park their cars and vans there (including outside our place, so we couldn't park there even if we wanted to). And used to harass Billy for parking his van on the street. (For some time I have been wondering just who Billy was. Turns out he was the chap who had the unoccupied place next door.) I wonder where they think people are going to park their vans? There are lots of vans parked along the roadside. It's a village with lots of people who work! (The complainers drive a large, shiny, black people carrier and he wears a suit and tie!). Richard knows someone who drives a traction engine. He says he'll get his pal to pop it on our road for a month or two. Actually, I quite fancy the idea of having a traction engine just up the road for me to admire!

Speaking of the house next door, last week, sometime, we noticed the sound of water rushing about. Sounded as it does when we have the outside tap on. Went to investigated. Nope. No water running anywhere in our house. Checked the house next door (Peered over fence!) Oops. Water running out of their outhouse. So, I rang the estate agent who is selling the house. Someone came out and turned the tap off as hard as it would go. Got the repossession people to send for a plumber.

Time passed. As it does!

The water started to trickle again. Then it trickled faster. And faster. And fasterandfasterandfaster. We investigated further. Oh dear. Water is positively cascading out of the outhouse. "It'll be those boys," muttered The Builder darkly. Seemed a bit harsh to me. After all, leaks do get worse, all on their own, without any help from anyone else. But no. The Builder got home yesterday, went to inspect the leak and found two boys in the garden next door, one of whom jumped the fence while the other one hid. I have rung the estate agent again today (as, apparently have several other people yesterday and today). He's going to get the repossession folks to send the plumber again. It seems that we and the house next door not only share a wall but also share pipes. The plumber couldn't turn the water off and do anything sensible when last he came because we were not there and you can't just go turning off people's water without permission. Unless you are the Water Board. And there is a crisis of some sort. Waiting for the plumber to ring to sort it all out. Hope s/he does soon -- our water pressure is starting to plummet. Anyway, it's a wicked waste of water. Not that I suppose 14 year olds are much concerned about wasting water when they can play with someone else's during a warm summer!

I've told the estate agent that kids are breaking through the fence as well. It's a repossessed property in the hands of the baillifs. People aren't supposed to be having water parties in the back yard. (Wowser? Me? What do you mean?)

On Wednesday, I went into work by public transport. Arrived in the Adsetts Centre. Stayed for half an hour then STORMED up Ecclesall Road for a team meeting, then STORMED back to the Adsetts Centre to do something else, then was on the desk at 1. Just before I went to lunch, Richard rang. Hadn't we organised a meeting that morning? Meeting? What meeti ..... Oops. Indeed we had. We were supposed to meet to go to the office of an academic who has recently retired and pack up his books (which he has donated to the Learning Centre -- I wasn't planning arbitrarily to steal them!). It was in my diary, but not in my electronic calendar. When Peter had asked on Tuesday if I was available for a sudden team meeting on Wednesday morning it was my electronic calendar I checked. Oops!!!!! We rescheduled for later in the afternoon. I had vastly underestimated the number of books and overestimated the size of the crates. Will need to organise some more crates!

In the evening, Roger drove Richard and me (Kate is away at her mother's house this week) to The Sidings and we had slow cooked beef stew, and wine, and we inspected the house and the gardens and ate chocolates, then they went away and I watched I Claudius and The Builder went to sleep and at 10 I talked to Tony on the Messenger, then to Matt (the s-i-l) on the Messenger and then we went to bed. Was a good day, even if it did involve a good deal of rushing about (including a hasty, mid-afternoon, sneaky trip to the Post Office to post a birthday present).

Lindsey sent me a text message pointing out that, under the present restrictions on hand luggage in planes, I would have to do without my heavily disguised, undercover suply of gin and tonic when next I fly. This is distressingly true. I contribute to a general message board elsewhere. It is heartening to see how many other people are having to make the same sacrifice!

Cattle-astrophe!!!!!!! Clarissa is leaving
:-( AAAAAARGHHHHHHH.