There’s a criminal in our house. Yes, sitting at the table right next to the impostor.
All day yesterday I had one of those bad feelings. You may know the sort. They hang over you like a cloud and you can’t shake it off or pin point what is bothering you.
This morning I emptied yesterday’s mail and this was in there.
My first thought was that “It Wasn’t Me.”
After some delving into the black hole that is my memory I had a recollection and it wasn’t good, for me anyway.
Pete had rung me to say the plumber was at our tenanted property and the tenants weren’t there to let him in as they had promised. I had rushed over to let him in knowing as long as I was holding him up it was costing us a motza.
To make things worse when I got there he had been let in. The tenant had been in bed and couldn’t be roused (at 3.00pm in the afternoon).
So there it is. I’m nothing but a common crim who’s two hundred and twenty dollars worse off than yesterday.