Mark wanted to move my plants from beside the runnel to the balcony wall in order to paint the cement skirting of the flat wall from stairwell to …wherever. He wanted to move them onto Tina’s bit. I said he’d better ask. In fact he didn’t encroach on hers at all but moved the rosemary balcony box in front of the stairwell door where its protrusion was least impeding since anybody coming through for me and Leslie could go one side of it and Tina the other. Leslie, his friends, even Bob who wanted to know what option I’d chosen for the stairwell walls and railing, all managed.
Tina returned from wherever and asked had the painter moved the box there. I said he had. She said it was in people’s way, meaning hers, and should’ve been farther down my bit. I explained then it would be in the way of people visiting me and Leslie and that it wasn’t in anybody’s way – hers – where it was. She said it’d be there till Monday when the painters returned. I said I’d move it back myself once the paint dried.
I was moving wine back into the shed, toing and froing, when from inside the flat I heard a crack and on my next visit to the shed saw the rosemary had been broken, no sign of the bit broken off. Taking a leaf out of Diana’s book, I said loudly enough for her to hear from inside her flat that she was arrogant, that I’d get her for it and she needn’t think I wouldn’t.