Deep breath. Count to ten.

Oh, I'm sorry. Did I say the boiler was fixed? Well, no, you see, it's not. It's packed up again. Is the plumber answering his phone? No, of course he isn't. Do I have to go to a party tonight, without benefit of shower? Yes, of course I do. Obviously. Because that's just my damn life, isn't it.

Inhale... exhale.

I do wish little things like this did not piss me off to quite such a ridiculous extent. I don't actually blame the plumber. I foolishly omitted to ask exactly what had gone wrong, so I have no idea what might have triggered the boiler's little relapse. Quite possibly the plumber did the best job humanly possible, but still this unforeseen second act would have been enacted. I don't blame the absent landlady either, obviously, because that would be irrational in the extreme. I just absolutely bloody hate dealing with crap like this, and I do wish it would stay dealt with. A phone call, a painful extraction of cash, problem solved. But no. That would be too easy.

Grrr...