The Landlady: Rent Book Tales

Keys please….

You would think, wouldn’t you, that with four lodgers, it would be impossible to get locked out of my house. Not so, as this morning, I spent two hours outside my house trying to get in. My own silly fault, for going running and forgetting my keys. I exhaustively rang the bell of my tenant who lives on the ground floor, but although her TV was blaring away, she must have either popped out, or been in the shower.

I decided that I would go running anyway and hope she was still there when I got back. While on my running route, it occurred to me that I could run to St Aubyn’s and ring the bell of Mr B, who is currently decorating my house and therefore has the spare key. Although his car was parked directly outside his flat, there was no reply there either…. curses! Knowing his partiality to a morning pastry, I checked the bakery at the bottom of the road to no avail.

There was no reply there either… curses!

Running (literally) out of ideas, I wracked my brain to try to remember The Big Daughter’s phone number, which is the only one I can remember by heart. Well, it was the only one I could remember by heart, but now I can only recall the last 6 digits, which are as much use as a chocolate teapot.

Back outside my house once more, I rang the bell, noticing that the ground floor tenant’s TV had been switched off and the flat was in silence. As a last resort, I legged it to The Supermarket, where my colleague G was working and definitely had decorator Mr B’s number in his iPhone.

B was duly called and a message was left. He called back while G was on the toilet, so I had to call back AGAIN and explain my dilemma. Mr B had indeed been in the bakery when I’d called round, but in the one at the top of the road. He was happy to meet me half way along the seafront with my spare key, which pretty much saved my day, although I was an hour late opening the shop on the Pier…