har, no old newspapers ar?

That was what the incredulous Bangla slash Paki slash I don't really know what race worker from the main contractor's office said to me, crouched by the base of my backyard wall.

This follows two weeks of uncertainty over whether the leaking water from my unit (which caused a dramatic lift breakdown a month back) was due to my renovating contractor's error or the main contractor's (if it was the latter, it meant no huge repair bill on my hands).

After establishing that my own contractor did not hack the pipes in the floor (where the supposed leak was coming from), I was pretty happy to sit back, take leave and let the main con drill / fix / hammer / dig whatever needed to be done. Do not fancy waking up to leaking tiles and smelly water.

The worker asked me for old newspaper and I realized that I had glossies upon glossies of InStyle and Elle Decor, but not a shred of old newspapers anywhere.

Moral of the story, however abstract and meaningless it may seem -
1) Print is going down the toilet in favour of digital media, as the younger population takes over

2) Always doggedly pursue a matter and postulate all avenues of possibilities to ensure you achieve your aim of passing the blame to someone else. I spent days drawing mental issue trees in my mind trying to come up with different scenarios which had the highest likelihood of resulting in me not having to pay for repairs.

So this is what I'm spending Valentine's Day doing. Listening to drilling sounds in my backyard area with my legs propped up on my sofa bench, popping kuih bangkit in my mouth and wondering if I should chop off my hair.

This also means, I am not at work.

Ya-the-HOO!!