A few days ago, we woke up to find that during the night some charming specimen of humanity had decided to chuck a bucket-full of paint over our fence. White paint was splattered all over our deck, some of the fence and also on the house itself.
This is partly ironic because I'd been feeling really positive about humanity in the few weeks leading up to this. I'd forgotten that Neanderthals still exist.
We rang our landlords as soon as we realised, figuring they would want to know. 'Do you want us to have a go at it?' we asked, knowing that five girls had no chance against sticky white paint.
'No, no,' they replied. 'We'll come round straight away.'
To be fair to them, they are absolutely fabulous and it's not every landlord that would care about their own property and their duty to their tenants the way they do. Every problem we've ever had with the house has been sorted out in record time.
It's just that when they came round, they brought with them a waterblaster to attack the paint with, and they proceeded, basically, to blow the paint from its existing spots to all other spots that hadn't already got paint on them.
Now we have white paint splashed all over our vegetables; the vegetables we've been growing all winter in the hopes of one day eating them and which have only just become edible and which are now, all, inedible. The rosemary we've been growing for over a year is covered in paint. The little miniature rose, planted in my favourite favourite pot is also now covered in paint.