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They paved paradise and put up a parkin' lot. Sort of.
As a friend of mine remarked, the trouble is with renting a place: live there too long (eight and a half years) and it becomes 'home'.
End September, the landlord informed yours truly that the home and building in which he lived is to be converted into a 'boutique hotel'. Oh, and this would require to please vacate said premises by the end of the year. Oh, and some workmen would be doing some work starting mid-October. Some work? Pneumatic drills and sledgehammers turning concrete and brick walls to rubble. Six days a week, for two weeks. Around the outside, bamboo scaffolding went up which was then covered with blue and white sheeting. Sort of like Cristo wrapping a building.
When you gotta go, you gotta go...
Moving out of the old place went quickly, settling in has been less than seamless: three days before I could make a cup of tea; five days before I could go back online. Most all of my possessions are still in boxes in what passes for the living room.
Anyway: so far, so good.
So, this is from a new flat in an almost new building. So new the air-cons (three) are still under warrantee. The place is tiny, but happens to overlook one of the main squares of a little island in the South China Sea. Around midnight two nights ago, one of the middle-aged heroin addicts sitting in the square cranked up a ghetto blaster. Canto-pop? Cantonese opera? Hardly. It was Julie Andrews singing The Sound of Music: "the hills are alive..." I kid you not.
My world has been fair turned upside down these past six weeks. But I also know irrevocable change happens to countless others every second and minute of the day. Change that is far, far worse, even. I also know: any day above ground is a good day. Bob Dylan said that. Or, the best revenge is to outlive your enemies. Richard Nixon said that. Take your pick.
Thank you for your kind comments.
Service resumes.
Have a day.
Best wishes, from Mister Bijou