It’s summertime and it’s aircon time.
Except in our block.
A couple of the rented flats have it, but it doesn’t work. They (British) are most disappointed. After all it is sooooo hot here at not even thirty degrees. The Vamp living above has just had it put in.
‘The aircon doesn’t work,’ say the rentees to us. Well so what? And, none of our business. Not a block management issue.
Did you take the lease on with fully functioning aircon?
Try getting that out of the people you are renting from.
‘Can’t you put aircon in our block?’ said one of the younger residents whose parents own the flat.
‘Er, no. That’s up to you to put it in your flat.’
Some years ago, a few houses in our pueblo had it installed, when everyone had a few euros still.
Aircon = huge electricity bills.
Aircon, as I learned in Australia, means you have to take warm clothes with you to go to work, because it is freezing in the office and when you get outside your body has to adjust to roasting temperatures.
And while home aircon units aren’t associated with legionella I spent too long dealing with outbreaks to regard aircon kindly. Reminds me of recycled smoke in airplanes.
So, no, we don’t have aircon.
We have switched on fans occasionally. Primarily to keep mosquitoes at bay at night in preference to nasty chemical implants polluting the atmosphere and my lungs.
And, when we bought Gibflat, it had one of those gorgeous Somerset Maugham ceiling fans.
Sooo, colonial. Sooo exotic.
Sooo Apocalypse Now.
Aircon just doesn’t have the same ambience.
Credits to napalm, Coppola, Conrad, and The Doors.