Chaos, chapter 2

A scene from earlier today: The attack on our flat is in full swing and the sound of the granite being slaughtered stings the dust-clogged air. They’re all speaking to one another in a language I can’t understand. I ask Joe if the dust has ruined the walls and he says it’s no problem. Clarice, the instigator, tells me quietly, as if in confidence, that Joe is complaining. She says he is complaining because his walls are ruined. But Jolly old Joe seems fine to me and he assures me everything is okay when I ask him again. I go to sit and find refuge in the spare room, in front of the comforting glow of my laptop, surrounded by displaced objects like the espresso machine and the golf clubs. I feel like an innocent civilian trapped in the rubble of a war-ravaged city, the foreign army leaving destruction in their wake. Then Clarice enters, teetering on her very impractical high-heels, and close to my ear but just behind my back she chants her mantra of the moment “bad, bad, bad”.

The aftermath: Things have subsided. Clarice is sitting on the edge of the bath watching the washing machine complete its spin cycle, the plumbers are connecting the pipes in the kitchen and chatting to Joe who is setting up his ladder and will soon begin to paint the passage. The one plumber says he’ll be having fish curry for lunch and Joe is smacking his chops saying something about mutton breyani. I have just had a cheese on bread sandwich (which I assembled on the only semi-clean flat surface I could find; a framed painting lying on the dining room table). It is the first thing I’ve eaten today (except for the spoon of sour yoghurt I had this morning before throwing the tub away). The sarmie would have gone down nicely with a cup of coffee, but unfortunately the kettle is somewhere in the lounge and the cups are in a sealed kitchen cupboard.

I’m sorry if I’m boring you with all this but I’m pretty bored myself. I’ve caught up on all the blogs I like to check, no new mail has come in, I’ve tried to work but found it tough to concentrate, and there is no where else in the flat for me to sit. At least the dust has subsided and the only coughing now is Joe's ... I think the old man might have TB... he has 13 children and 2 wives and lives on a farm... which is just an aside and has nothing to do with the coughing. Clarice says he is looking for a new wife, maybe that's why she's in heels today...

The plumber has three children. I know that not because he or Clarice told me but because they are waiting in his skoro-koro (very old car) parked in the road outside, pressing down on the hooter. I bet they are even more bored than I am!