Cycled half a mile to bottle bank. Roads so desolate. Only tractors with tailors on move. Parked bike and hurled in bottles, really went for it reciting names of my many enemies as I did so . Fairly banged ’em in relishing occasional sound of broken glass. OFT of course always features uttered in low decibel curses when violently recycling bottles- then my tenants. Oh! my tenants. Those foulest of foul fiends. That most loathsome of species.
With one days notice both have informed me they will “not pay any more rent”. Due in yesterday, they have, they report, fled home to Mummy and Daddy during the CV pandemic and are now somewhere in Europe. They, “hope for my understanding” . Not bloody likely. I am girding my loins
And so to midweek
The River Files 