now I can reveal...

...that our landlord has been a nimrod. I didn't want to mention the ongoing problems we've been having because I didn't want to frighten off potential guests, but now that they're fixed, I can let fly the barbs of wrath.

Before we moved in, I told the fellow who rented us the apartment (let's call him Mr. Oughtageta Hearingaid) "There is mold behind this strip of wallpaper here in the master bedroom. I have bad mold allergies. This strip of wallpaper must be removed and the mold must be removed and new wallpaper must be put in place before I move into this apartment." Mr. Oughtageta agreed that he would have the wall fixed according to my specifications. I went back to KL and didn't come back for a month.

When I returned to Bangkok and to this apartment, I found that yes indeedy the wallpaper had been removed and spanking new wallpaper had been put up in its place. But - hold onto those armrests, this is a shocker - the mold had not been removed! Ai ai ai. Fearing mass reprisals from my sinuses, I sped over to see the building manager post-post haste.

"Mr. Shouldalistened Thefirsttime," I said, " there is a problem. The wallpaper has been changed but the mold is still there." "Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes," said Mr. Shouldalistened. "Yes, I'll have my man look at it." In vain I believed his promises. Fool that I was, I went back to the apartment certain that he would keep to his word. He appeared to be such an attentive and helpful sort of man.

A couple of months passed. The cool season ended, and the FREAKING HOT season began. We discovered that the air conditioner in the master bedroom did not work properly. "Darling," I said sweetly to Phet one evening as I unstuck my sweaty face from the pillow, "is it just me or is the room becoming a tad warmish?" "Dumpling," he said as he reached for a glass of water on the bedside table to quench his parched throat, "Funny you should mention it, but indeed I have noticed a faint increase in temperature." We went back to sleep. An hour later I woke up and gently nudged Phet softly as he slept. "Sweetpea," I whispered through chattering teeth, "could I trouble you for a smidgen of blanket? It's gotten rawther brisk in here." Phet gallantly offered the blanket to me in its entirety as his skin turned blue. "Feathernose," he cautioned, "perhaps this radical change in climate may not be entirely tip-top for the health of our wee bumpkin of a boy over yonder," as the hair of his arms stood up at attention above the goose bumps. "Perhaps I'll drop in to see dear Mr. Doesn'tgivearat'sass Abouttenants tommorrow," I said softly as I chattered myself back to sleep.

I went to see Mr. Doesn'tgivearat'sass several times. He sent 'his man' once. The man checked the air con. It worked reasonably well. Because, duh, it functions, it just goes ON ON ON for about an hour and then goes OFF OFF OFF for the next hour. I went to see Mr. D again and he sent a new man. The new man came, fiddled around with some stuff, cleaned the filters, and then said that he was finished. We said ok, and then baked and broiled and froze for a few more weeks. Ever so helpfully, the second man had taken a gander at the rot below the wallpaper. He'd noticed that there was mold below and simply ripped a chunk of paper off the wall, leaving a delightfully 'shabby chic' touch to the room. The black mold provided a kicky counterpoint to the cream-coloured piece of shit air conditioner.

I went back to Mr. Somebody'sgonnagetta Hurting and practically begged for him to have someone come and deal with the wall and air con properly. "Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes," he said, and called a third man. The third man showed up on a Saturday a week later with a bucket of shellac in hand. He told us (in his Nepali / English / Thai sort of way) that he was going to rip down the wallpaper, cover the mold with shellac, and then the wallpaper man would come at some later date. "No, no, no, no, no," we said, and we made him call Mr. Somebody'sgonnagetta right away quick. We kindly encouraged Mr. S to come and take a look at the wall for himself. We told him, when he came up, "If you shellac this mold, the problem will not be solved. The window is still going to leak. The window must be fixed first so that the water will not enter the concrete. Then you can fix the mold and wallpaper." "Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes," he assured us soothingly. "My man will come next week."

The next week, which was to say last week, nothing happened. The air con was still acting like a tetchy lover - now hot, now cold, now distant, now fierce. The wall was still sans-wallpaper, although I had done a spot-on job putting up an interlude-wallpaper of sorts by pasting up pages from the Bangkok Post on our walls.

Ah, home sweet home!

Last Friday I finally went to the office, near-ready to weep. Mr. S was not around but Ms. Helpsoutina Pinch was there, and she advised me that if I was unable to get things fixed by Mr. S I should write a letter to the big boss, Mr. Hires Incompetents. So, I zipped up to the apartment, hacked out a scythingly good letter, attached some primo photos of the whole bedroom debacle, and went to see Mr. H. He accepted the letter and told me that he had already ordered a new remote control for our air con. I was doubtful, but he told me that he would have a wall-expert visit later that week.

So, the day before Bob arrived, the window fix-it man came to the apartment. He went straight to work: plugged the old hole that had drained rainwater from the window-box below the window and that had led the water through the wall and out into the guest bathroom (I'd always wondered where that pipe had led from, and why the water coming out of it had bits of sand in it, but when I'd asked the maintenance man about it he'd just said "Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes," and I'd stopped worrying). Instead, he drilled a hold so that the water would exit out onto the ground below. BRILLIANT SOLUTION. Only took 7 months to come up with that one. Then he covered the window-box with tar so that the water wouldn't be able to leach into the cement. On the same day, the air con man turned up with a brand new remote control, installed it, and voila, the air con worked. Again, only 7 short months!

On the day Bob arrived, the wallpaper man came, ripped off all the wallpaper and started work. Bob showed up and we were a tiny bit apprehensive. "Ah, yes, Bob, you see we've just had this workman come in the knick of time. Really, we could quite happily send him off and arrange for him to come another day, but then we mightn't have anywhere to sleep while you are in residence, and we suppose we would prefer to offer you an actual bed rather than a couch, so just for those reasons, perhaps we'll allow him to carry on with his adorable papering." "Okey dokey," said Bob, who knew a thing or two about his options on Khao San road, and was willing to rough it out at our place.

Later that afternoon, the wallpaper man completed his job. The room looked excellent. The air con hummed busily. Phet and I gave ourselves a big high five, and congratulated ourselves on an apartment well picked.

Anyone who wants to chip in on a bottle of Dom Perignon for Mr. Onour Blacklist, please send cash to us. We have unshakeable faith not only in landlords, but in post office employees too. [Bangkok-12-July-2005]