which is all very well and good - believe me, I'm not complaining, it's so pleasant not being a Lesser Dripping Sweatbeeste right now - but the current torrential precipitation has made it clear that our roof tiles aren't as sound as they might be, because there are (small, admittedly) water stains spreading on the ceiling of my room.
Ah, the days of being a tenant, when we could simply have rung the landcreature - and been ignored. As householders, it's up to us to fix it - and that means poor Jus getting up into the loft to see what's what, since I doubt that my back would let me get up there. Fortunately he's not arachnophobic.
Completely laterally, I just came upon (oh, you smutmonkeys! not like that!) a piece of paper in a pocket on which I had noted down a complete speechfuck of mine. I had to trim my fingernails while we were on holiday because I'd noticed that I'd woken with a nailmark in my right palm. Checking that that was the cause, I asked Jus "Love, have you noticed whether I've been sleeping with my finches cleft?" How my language processor got that out of "fists clenched" I have no idea.
worried