Viv was cleaning the bathroom and decided to try the magnetic window cleaner. Twice she sent me downstairs to retrieve the sponge. She said every time I get to the top the outside piece falls off. There is a security string on it and she had tied it to a tap. I watched as she got to the end of the string and it fell off again.
On one of my trips downstairs I met our neighbor, she arrived with her mother and a load of boxes. I said hello to her mother and left them to use the lift. I used the stairs as there was no room in the lift with all the boxes.
Fortunately this time the sponge stayed attached. So now it was my turn at least I was not loosing it all the time, as I tied it nearer the window, but it just left streaks. Then it fell off again and I decided to go to the chino.
Sebastian was waiting by the door with sponge in hand. He tried to give me instructions on how to clean the windows, I think he has longer arms than me.
When I got back, I tried with the squeegee, Sebastian style. Viv was not happy, she was convinced that I was going to fall out of the window. It was moderately successful, but there are still streaks and I have black marks all the way up my arm.
There were a few more in Nuevo Chique today, but it did not stop the dancing. Neither of us missed a tanda, we danced solid from four until almost eight. It just gets better, unfortunately, I do not. I was flagging considerably by the end and sat out the last tanda. It was just too much and I called time. I think Viv would have carried on, but we paid our bill and left.
La Bruja did it again; last night she said to me “Not seen the dutch girl, the one who sold clothes” So Guess who turned up today in Nuevo Chique? I tell you it is scary how often she does this.
We were tired and hungry so we stopped at Vittorio for a coffee and medialuna. There is no WiFi here but I can pick up a weak signal from across the road. I received a message from home that a friend had died. It was not totally unexpected, but sad news just the same. We will miss the funeral but sent our thoughts.
The life of a frustrated Milonguero 