I apologise in advance if you have stumbled upon this blog entry via an Internet search hoping to find a recipe for bathed bread*, though having said that I’m not too sure how many people go searching for Occitan words these days…or any other day for that matter ;)
Regular readers will know that I tend to make a habit of using obscure titles to my posts, I haven’t quite figured out why this is, usually because I seldom have a conceived notion of what I am going to write about until I start typing; as the old Yellow Pages adverts encouraged me whilst growing up (something I have not yet finished) let your fingers do the talking, which of course took on an altogether more smutty feeling when I was teenager ;)
I suppose I should update you all with my usual sad tale of the slack nature of contractors in London. The near 2 year saga of my leaky bathroom ceiling and crumbling plaster walls inched closer to remedy when my landlord actually managed to get a sub-contractor to call me to arrange a time when they could come around and size up the job. That day was today. I should have guessed things were not going to bode well when he called and insisted I lived at number 98 when I have for the past 6 years been living at number 99. Despite correcting him every time he said it, he still insisted on stating 98; nevertheless he advised he’d be round to inspect the damage late morning and qualified that as between 11am and 11.30am. Not even Ocado can pin a delivery down to a 30 minute slot, what chance did I have with a guy who refused to retain the actual house number of the property he was due to visit?
So, making use of remote access I saved myself a day’s leave by opting to work from home while I waited for Bob to turn up and yes, he really is called Bob! As I suspected 11am came and went as did 12 Noon as did 1pm. At 1.30pm I was starting to think that perhaps Bob hadn’t managed to remember I didn’t live at number 98 and was just about to go across the road and ask if they had been visited by a builder with a very short attention span when my phone went. I answered it, it was Bob. Poor Bob was struck down by a medical emergency this morning and had to go to his local GP who told him to take a few days off work so he was very sorry but he couldn’t come round to number 98 to look at the damage. I think I confused him even more when I replied that it was OK because I wasn’t going to be at number 98 seeing as I lived at number 99. Oh sorry! he replied, I must have got the wrong number! Cue a frantic 2 minutes reminding him that he was never supposed to go to number 98, Oh yeah, said Bob, I remember now! Bob wants to come around next week instead… what’s the betting he still goes to number 98??
* Pan Bagnat Recipe
After a few requests I typed up the hand written recipe I have. Click here for my Pan Bagnat Recipe