The house is noisy. And there is grass drama.

My scheme to cut down on the aircon by walking around the house with no clothes on is ruined because the Indons are back. I heard them before I saw them. There are two this time -- both hacking at the wall at the side of the house by the maid's quarters, one using a hammer and the other an electric drill. When the hacking started I went downstairs to have a look and there was no hi, no hello. Just a sulky, "Buka pintu ini," which I did. They now have access to the tempat sidai kain and can hack at the wall there as well.

I told the leader, the skinny one in a goatee and bandana, about the leak in the master bathroom that is causing the ceiling to peel in the downstairs cloakroom. I also very magnanimously told them not to rush it -- they may begin that work tomorrow.

Earlier this morning, another Indon walked up the driveway and asked if I had made up my mind about letting him cut the grass. I told him I had not.

To my understanding, we have contracted Mr. Liew for garden maintenance. Indeed, but for Mr. Jimmy throwing a hissy fit, Mr. Liew would be here today. And the grass would be nice and trim instead of looking uncouth and attracting attention for the wrong reasons. Key words: but for Mr. Jimmy.