Wash machine boogie

This is ridiculous. My second day in Brasov and I’m up to my neck in dirty water.  The washing machine in Sex Shop has broken down again and Monika has me asked to fix it. Why me? Isn’t there anyone else in Romania she can ask, for goodness sake? Somebody tell her: I’ve won the Wooden Spoon for Least Practical Male on the Planet for the last ten years.

Inevitably, I end up breaking the connecting pipe thing or whatever it is and there is an enormous puddle heading down the steps towards the strap-ons.

There’s only one way to deal with this. I get Monika to use her Samsung Galaxy and call Diogenes in Pest. As usual, he’s taking an extended lunch and available to take calls. Eventually – when the waves of uncharitable laughter have subsided on the other end – the wretched dwarf tells me how to fix it. With a great deal of effort I get the pipe back on. Bloody thing. God, I need to chill.

Ten minutes later I’m in a nearby side street where there is a creperie that sells Ursus Brun (dark beer for bears). I sit down. Relax. Then I notice an old dear wearing a loose fitting t-shirt and, apparently, no bra. She has Edna Popup breats.  She comes over to me and starts gesticulating wildly. I look around. Yes, it is definitely me she wants. Money? Signed photograph? What then? I don’t understand, dear. Oh, excellent. She’s locked herself out of her apartment and wants me to fix the ruddy door.

I try and hide behind my beer.