Working nine to five

I learned to drive, bought a VW Golf, sadly, it was not the flashy GTI model. I also managed to snag a house, a cosy little terrace that cost less than pocket change today. To tackle the mortgage game, I unleashed my entrepreneurial spirit and rented out a room to a co-worker. Thanks to that genius move, I was living the dream while he paid the mortgage. 

Not very handy, the house was a mish-mash of DIY renovations. Imagine a mad bull in a hardware store or Dali meets Picasso The house was comfortable, but more important, it was mine (and the bank's). 

One weekend, the smart lawyer friend visited and I was in the middle of a bathroom renovation. There were no curtains in the bathroom and as expected, one tile lead to another. We were in a passionate tryst when the doorbell went berserk. Wrapped in nothing but a towel, I embarked on the legendary showdown with an irate neighbour from the rear. Her daughter had front-row seats to my impromptu performance, most likely earning herself a distinction in her O Level Biology.

I have to admit, the tiles were a little crooked, the grouting messy but the curtain, that was perfect.