The average one
The average Sunday morning starts on the average Saturday evening, when we gather at somebody's place who has a kitchen bigger than mine and thus can cook for more than two people. It also often means that somebody came back from somewhere where good quality meat or other goodies were available and now wants to share their joy and meat. Yesterday it manifested in some lamb from Kinshasa. Plus my flatmate was driving so I could afford to make good friends with a sparkling wine named Jacqueline. Jacqueline is a good girl.
Average Saturday evening means that you eat at somebody else's place, so you get home last. At least last among those in the apartment building having a car. This is a bit iof a problem because there are too many cars and not enough parking space, so if I park last the evening, nobody else can go anywhere afterwards, and for sure I will not be the first one willing to leave on Sunday morning. So the guard comes upstairs and bangs on the door until I get up, go downstairs, let the other car leave and park mine back. This usually happens between eight and half past eight. Luckily today the upstairs neighbour decided to destroy his entire flat as early as 7, so I was up anyway. Although, he probably heard my thoughts contemplating that I should kill him, because he paused his hammering until eight. I appreciated that.
The other thing that may be important to know is that on weekends you never know when you can cook or shower, because as long as there is daylight, they won't turn on the generator, even if the electricity cuts. I know, I don't need light for showering, but thing is that water doesn't come up to the second floor without electricity, and it just drips really sadly from the tap like it has prostate problems.
The average Sunday morning starts on the average Saturday evening, when we gather at somebody's place who has a kitchen bigger than mine and thus can cook for more than two people. It also often means that somebody came back from somewhere where good quality meat or other goodies were available and now wants to share their joy and meat. Yesterday it manifested in some lamb from Kinshasa. Plus my flatmate was driving so I could afford to make good friends with a sparkling wine named Jacqueline. Jacqueline is a good girl.
Average Saturday evening means that you eat at somebody else's place, so you get home last. At least last among those in the apartment building having a car. This is a bit iof a problem because there are too many cars and not enough parking space, so if I park last the evening, nobody else can go anywhere afterwards, and for sure I will not be the first one willing to leave on Sunday morning. So the guard comes upstairs and bangs on the door until I get up, go downstairs, let the other car leave and park mine back. This usually happens between eight and half past eight. Luckily today the upstairs neighbour decided to destroy his entire flat as early as 7, so I was up anyway. Although, he probably heard my thoughts contemplating that I should kill him, because he paused his hammering until eight. I appreciated that.
The other thing that may be important to know is that on weekends you never know when you can cook or shower, because as long as there is daylight, they won't turn on the generator, even if the electricity cuts. I know, I don't need light for showering, but thing is that water doesn't come up to the second floor without electricity, and it just drips really sadly from the tap like it has prostate problems.
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