Amarinda Jones

Why is it when it is a cold Monday morning and I have just stripped off all my clothes and turned on the shower that there is no hot water? Two reasons - one life is just like that and two the pilot light for the gas hot water heater went out - again. I have an old house which is very quirky. It is solid but it has what I believe is the world’s greatest collection of electrical sockets, everything is on an strange angle and every time I dig in the garden I find razor blades and nappy pins – no, I don’t know why either but I keep my tetanus shot up to date . My house also still has an old gas pilot light water service. I have been told by various workmen that this is the loveliest gas hot water system that ever was made. Mind you these are the same men who gaze at the tiled roof and discuss how perfect it is. Forget the charms of Amarinda, I cannot compete with the gas hot water service or the roof when it comes to tradesmen. That’s okay. I don’t think I want a man that gets the hots over a roof tile. Not that there is anything wrong with that – each to their own passion.

Anyway, with much swearing I threw on my glamorous (not) purple chenille robe over my voluptuous (okay, chunky body) and went outside to unlock under the house, gas flame gun in hand. I am fairly scary looking early in the morning so if I come towards you with a gas flame gun I mean no harm. However I did scare the parcel delivery man who turned up as I managed to get the gas back on – which takes many attempts and more swearing. He looked truly frightened at the gas gun toting, feral haired woman dressed in purple. But it was not just my appearance the scared him. He knows not to mess with me. He went through a stage where he ‘lost’ two registered parcels of mine. He was ‘not sure’ where he put them. Yeah right. These were parcels that needed a signature. Ever since he and the postal service got a polite and to the point bollicking from me he is now very wary. I am not a woman who will accept half arsed excuses. If you are going to lie make it a good one otherwise do not mess with me. Anyway he is now scared of Ms Jones and I kind of like that as I know no more parcels will go ‘missing.’

As I came upstairs, I checked my email and my friend Ethel, no, not her real name but I am Lucy to her Ethel, said she felt ‘lucky’ and we should get a lotto ticket together. Ethel is the unluckiest woman in the world. No joke. We have been through a lot together as good friends do and I know her luck sucks big time. But I know one day it has to get better so I said ‘sure, why not’ as hope springs eternal. I hope tomorrow the gas hot water service will not spit the dummy or if it does I won’t care as Ethel and I will be drunk and celebrating our lotto win.

I’ll leave you with this thought…my friend Svetlana, no again not a real name but she strikes me as someone who could be called Svetlana, is going to Europe for two months. She told me she is worried. Terrorists, I asked? No, she is worried that she will not be able to get oyster sauce or condensed milk. Of course, that would have been my second response. So there you go. We’re not going to put our lives on hold for terrorists but by god if there is no oyster sauce on the table look out!

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