Whoodunit

I'm stymied. Just earlier this evening, I blithely told a prospective buyer that it's really noisy here much to the new brokers annoyance. His less than gracious advice that I tell the landlord I want to break the lease coz he can get more money fails for the moment.

As my houseguests leave, (amazing what a lanky 15 year old can do to you on the mushiness scale as they say they'll miss you and hope you'll come with them or let them stay forever between a full on squashed body hug), I decide the week that was, has won and I'm more othan ready to surrender my decadent lifestyle of an immaculate jet setting bachelorette boss lady the coolest woman on the planet image and elected to moulder in bed instead of shaking a leg (and then some). Naturally, the decibels crank up in anticipation of the long weekend, but an unexpected and discorant whine makes me pause in my perusal of good looking men. That sounded remarkably like an aircraft. Well, at the very least like a genuine flight simulator. Did they forget to oil the bungee? The strange noise continues unabashed and I debate whether it's worth my while to get out of bed, thunk my way downstairs and investigate the matter. Broker taking revenge? The whole get out of plan makes me wonder the exercise will yield. Knowledge of a new form of entertainment at Clarke Quay? Annoyance? Aggravation? A rude call to the broker taking him up on his offer? Is this an Easter weekend thing perhaps? I content myself with muttering evil things about the new broker and thinking deeply voodoo thoughts. The noise stops. I gracefully refrain from gloating but just as i get used to the discordant notes of the band downstairs, it starts up again like an agitated jet engine trying to impress a new date. WTF?!

A wee little voice in the distant reaches of my brain tries to make itself noticed.... 'washing machine' it whispers. Oh. Right. I did hit a few buttons on that creature did I not? The first time I've heard it in action and apparently it's an A380 cleverly in disguise as a maudlin white good. Clearly, tossing in an armload of towels at 11 pm isn't the right strategy when your bed is directly above the said implement of domesticity, particularly in a studio flat with no doors apart from the one barring random strangers that may meander in. You live and you learn. Or not as the case may be. Uh oh, sounds like its ready for take off...... tighten seat belts and hope that it does not explode. Hmmmm, it really is just like flying on the upper deck!