I got to use the word "farrago"...

...as in "this weekend's farrago of broken promises". That'll teach 'em. I bet they're sorry now...

Well, they will be tomorrow. That was in a letter. A smarter man than I would have phoned them, but that man does not live here.

Meanwhile it has snowed again overnight and thawed this morning, and the man who lives here has drips in his dining-room again. Two drips today: I stabbed a suspicious-looking bulge, and whoo, yeah. It was a jet before it died to a dribble and thence to a drip. I shall not say what it looked like, but it's kinda browny-yellow. Would that be ochre?

And now I don't know what to do. Apart maybe from making my way across the room piercing other lesser bulges, and praying for no rain before Saturday.