Two hours after her scheduled arrival, a prospective tenant rings to say she is near the 'Bread of Life' bakery. I tell her to wait there while I come and find her. I do and, with concern, she tells me that the police have been helpful in guiding her to my address.
A large lady with her hair in a bun and a Morrison's bag in each hand walks past. 'Did you find it?' she asks the girl. It seems that she has also engaged the help of civilians. I decide to trespass further on the kindness of a stranger. She is matter-of-fact and happy to oblige. She is a mixture of German and Yugoslavian but her middle name, she tells us with a twang, is just plain old Australian.
The prospective tenant does not take the room.
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