Letting agents of hell

Stephen reporting in. We’re having a bit of a problem with the letting agent through whom we’re renting our flat in Sydney. Nothing serious, we just can’t get a straight answer from them on something. They’re called Adept Property, but Anne now calls them Inept Property. Ahahahahahaha - we win!

You see, we don’t think they are adept!

(We think they’re inept.)

Dr (Anne) who?

I’m working proper hours (9 until 6ish, unless I do overtime), but Anne is working from about midday until about 8 or 9pm (so she can phone and bother people in the evenings once they get home from work). Consequently, we don’t see much of each other at the moment.

This might be for the best, as in the month between quitting our jobs back home and getting jobs here we barely left each other’s side. Much as this must have been a pleasure for Anne, I detected that once or twice my chirpy, friendly wit and banter may have been a bit too much for her.

So I reckon, once Anne’s been through two months or so of calling strangers on the phone all day and trying to ram financial services down their necks, she’ll finally appreciate me.

Meanwhile I get some time alone for colouring-in.