Greedy Private Landlords.

My Wife and I own houses that we offer for rental. Because of this, we are classed by many of those who consider themselves, in various degrees, as socialists, as 'greedy private landlords'.

All too often, possibly every time, when the question of tenancy of rented housing is discussed, or written about, the cliché 'greedy private landlords' will be quoted.

Why are we labelled as being 'greedy' – by people who know nothing about us – because we invested our hard earned and saved; by forgoing purchasing unnecessary luxuries; money into property that we rent-out for our pension income?

If we had used our money to purchase an annuity to provide us with a retirement income, and in turn given an assurance company profit, would we be considered as greedy?

If we only receive our state pension, because we didn't plan for additional private revenue, and have to claim pension credits and other social benefit payments, paid for by other people's taxes, so we can survive, would we be considered 'greedy'?

Are there different classifications of private-landlords or are we all just one group of greedy investors in property?

What about people who invest in buying their own home, with the hopes that it will increase in value, so that they can sell it at a profit when they downsize, after the family has left, and supplement their pension: are private-home investors greedy?

© Elliot Sampford 2013

Obnoxious Odours.

Last Friday morning I was in the checkout queue, in a major supermarket, when I nearly collapsed.

It wasn't because I had over exerted myself loading my purchases from the shopping-trolley to the conveyor belt. It wasn't because of an anxiety attack thinking about the total cost of the items.

The cause of my possible transition to a comatose state was – and there is no polite way of explaining my dilemma – the unbearable stench from the person, alongside me, in the queue running parallel with the one I was in.

The obnoxious smog of fumes; stale nicotine from clothing and yellowed skin; fermenting waste alcohol spilt on clothes and on exhaled breath; and bacterial body odour; was emanating from the offending obese shopper. The cloud was enveloping, smothering me. I was beginning to appreciate what it would have been like in a gas attack whilst in the trenches.

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I was having difficulty breathing. My stomach was considering returning my breakfast to me. My legs were giving way, I held onto the counter. Claustrophobia began to control me. I looked to my wife, who was the other end of our trundler, for help. But, all she could offer was a skyward glance with raised eyebrows, a wrinkled forehead, and the pinching of her nostril as a physical suggestion of action I could take.

There was no possible escape route. I was trapped between the emptied cart of the customer ahead of me, and my half-emptied one waiting for me to put the final items on the slowly-moving rubber belt. It wasn't possible to reverse away from the checkout, and abandon the shopping, to fend for itself, as other shoppers, and their accompanying wire-mesh wheelbarrows, had joined the one-way exit system. The front wheels of the trolley behind Natalie were already snapping at her heals. Any escape route between the two adjacent queues was blocked by the tangled traffic jam of bodies and carts.

The monster from the cesspit didn't have too much shopping ahead of it and luckily for me started to move towards the cash register. The cashier must have detected the pungency of the danger heading towards her. Perhaps she had experienced it before. She moved her seat back as far away from the check-out scanner as possible and leant back to give added safety distance.

Although there was a degree of forward movement in my queue I didn't move. My lungs detected an increase in the level of oxygen available, as the abhorrent fog followed it's source, and allowed me to take a near-normal breath. My legs regained their stability. My breakfast remained where it was. I was able to complete the emptying of my trolley. I waited for the dark mass to move away with its packed and paid-for shopping before following my groceries to our bagging area.

I took the opportunity to glance towards the main exit aisle and I'm sure I could see shoppers moving to the left and right to offer a clear central path to allow the moving pollutant haze and owner to depart unhindered.

How can any human being be oblivious to the fact that they are dispensing a repellent smell? Or are they aware but don't care?

Have you experienced a similar incident? What did you do: did you say anything to the person? Is there a tactful way of telling someone they are giving off an obnoxious odour?

©ElliotSampford2013

Home Grown Organic Oranges

Today I picked the last nine oranges, of this season, from the little tree in our rear patio area. We've had a total of twenty-nine fruits this year: the heaviest of them was 17.6 ounces. The juice we get from them is bounteous, smooth and sweet.

Consequence or Coincidence – El Pulpo Arrives.

At 09:33 hrs. today I sent an email to the Orihuela Town Hall annex in Orihuela Costa with a link to the article – Orihuela Costa has many Landfill and Compost Heap Sites – THE STREETS! – that I had posted onto my weblog. I also sent a copy of the email to the two newspapers mentioned in my comment.

Is this a consequence – or is it a coincidence? The compost heap has gone. The result is pleasing whatever the cause; albeit probably a short lived absence of dumped rubbish left in the street.

At 17:10 hrs. today the Council Cleaning Service's hydraulic lift lorry (known as 'El Pulpo') arrived at the waste heap.

At 17:45 hrs. the lorry departed with a full skip.

From the difference between the before-photograph:

and the after-photograph:

you can see the area previously covered by the landfill as indicated by the dark damp patch now visible on the road surface.

© Elliot Sampford 2013