It has been 15 years since I moved out of home in North Manchester. I know I look too youthful. Never in my life have I had such contact with residential landlords. Daily or every other day in the case of Mr Amin. This slightly anxious, penny-pinching married 60-something Indian man. He lives just north of London. As a result, he rarely comes down to check out the range of curses, which seem to plague the house of five, in which I live with a generally decent and eclectic bunch of people. All of these people are generally equally capable of handling a conversation, even if it comes in an array of accents. And yet, every single time, he is leaving me hundreds of messages.
The barrage of calls is relentless and I have a Jewish mother.
“Lee, can you call me to tell me where the leak is, I am here with the repair man”
“Lee, can you call me, I am here with the fire extinguisher man”
“Lee, can you call please, I want to know if anyone will be home for the arrival of Francesca’s wardrobe”
“Lee, can you call please, my wife wants to know when you all will be home so she can meet you”
“Lee, can you call please, the builders are coming round to do your rooms”
“Lee, can you call please, Tony is round to fit the new oven”
Of course, when we call him to tell him
Mr Amin, we have mites chewing the carpet, will you replace it?
Mr Amin, the oven hobs don’t work, could we have the new one promised before I climb into the microwave with my meal?
Mr Amin, there is a damp patch in the bathroom, could we want to paint over it as you won’t do anything about it?
Mr Amin, we need a new shower heater in spite of global warming?
Mr Amin, Francesca needs a new wardrobe that fits the room’s dimensions.
Mr Amin, Anna needs a new bed that she can sleep in without dangling her legs out of the upstairs window.
If Gordon Brown is reading my expanding blog, kill the housing market. Now. Let us on this so called rope ladder of debt before we turn to eating our friggin landlords in cold, insect-infested, cluttered shoeboxes just off Golders Green.
Don’t say I didn’t warn you. I am off for lunch.
