Sometimes planes fly past the airport so that everyone gets to view the little runway balancing on the coast edge. It appears smaller than other runways, and it ends in the sea - there's no buffer zone here. Once the passengers have reached the optimum level of anxiety and anticipation, the plane swings round at a 60-degree angle and heads in.
Last night the flight was packed with first-time holiday folk. The kids screamed like they were on a rollercoaster. When we touched down (safely) everyone whooped and cheered, drowning out the "please keep your safety belts on" announcement. The passengers were still wired when they arrived in passport control.
Landlady and Landlord met me at the airport, and we babbled away for the journey, catching up on news. (By the way, she says 'hi' to... well, everyone). Back in the apartment I looked around. Something wasn't quite right...
It was clean.
Spanky clean.
Now, I'd left it in a reasonable state, but it had that just-cleaned look about it. The bathroom gleamed, the whole place was dust-free and lemony fresh. Yes, Landlady had been cleaning. Broom and swiffer were reorganised, the kitchen scrubbies and cloths neatly folded, she had even plumped up the pillows on my bed...
I know there may be folk out there who would see this as an infringement. Not me, no sireee. I say: God bless her obsessive-compulsive disorder!
