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Landlady: Cold Turkey
The Cuban Boyfriend and I are sitting on the beach in a nippy and windy Turkey. I think it's actually warmer in the UK than it is here. He is fishing (so far without much success, as he has actually lost more in the way of lures than he has caught fish), I am writing this approximately three metres from the sea with a distant view of a Greek island. It's better than sitting in my bedroom in Brighton I can tell you, warmer or not.
Of course, since we arrived, we've already had the usual array of minor issues with my Turkish house, the first being that the gas bottle had run out after three years of constant service. I had so much faith in the thing (after the first one exploded and my neighbour had to roll it down the hill and into the field beyond, hissing violently – the bottle that is, although the neighbour wasn't best pleased) that I kind of assumed that it would last forever. Well, I suppose that if it was going to happen, it might as well have been this time, when I have The Cuban Boyfriend and a flashy – now extremely muddy – 4 by 4 at my disposal. In my life BC (before The Cuban) I would have had to prey on the kindness of a neighbour to help me, or heft the bloody thing down to town on the bus.
On the first night, I was taking a shower when the water suddenly became scalding hot, and continued to pour out all over the place, even when I turned it off. In the end, The Cuban was despatched to the garden to turn off the mains electricity, which seemed to do the trick. Luckily, I'd managed to dodge the worst of the torrent. Had The Boyfriend been in the shower at the time, he may not have noticed, as due to dodgy equipment and ancient connections, being attacked by errant currents of electricity and scalding water is just one of the many dangers of day to day life for the average Cuban.
Boring though it is, we discovered that a shower head full of limescale had made the shower literally boil over. Not so different to Brighton after all then.