Mr Ceresuela had been quiet lately. The last I saw of him he was being bundled into a taxi by his lovely lady wife but then nothing. I thought about searching the obituary pages but Henderson told me the wife told him Mr C was in the Sacred Heart Hospital having fallen over for a change in the Puerto Rico bar. Apparently she had told everyone who rushed to his aid to leave him be as he is always falling over. I met the builders who work downstairs from us and have their offices under Mr C's balcon in the Tomate Jamon the other night and they said they would rejoice if Mr C was dead and his bloody wife too as they were sick to death of him spitting on their heads as they arrived for work, and the rest. No love lost there then.
Meanwhile Mercedes is still ignoring me but vibing me out as la Mala, the ruin of her life as now she has to sort the dog out. Seems to me that it is perfect. The dog is delighted as he is now with her a lot, she is with the dog and surely happy as what's the point of having a dog or a kid if you never see it? And we are happy as we aren't being serenaded by its howls during our siesta. Surely a result? Not saying hello or having some peace and quite for once?
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