Paperwork and a Repaint

The paperwork seems endless. No sooner do I think I've answered the last query than another one presents.

Last week I agreed to apply for a lease extension. Thank goodness the quote was  the same as the one made in January, when the buyer wasn't interested in renewing. She'd  go ahead with the purchase and renew the lease 'further down the line'. Her solicitor said there could be a 'catastrophic' rise in the price, so best to do it now. The time limit for responding is the same- one month. So long as she bears the cost I don't mind either way.

OK. I photocopy the new offer letter and take it to the solicitor's (so glad I chose one located on the edge of the heath, next door to a pub)

Almost immediately comes a query about roof repairs. A January  storm lifted the edge of the flat roof that covers the block. It didn't affect us, but damage to the next door flat and repairs  were mentioned in one of the questionnaires. Not the 'who-are-you?' one that made you feel like a  spy or illegal asylum seeker, but the one that hints at how you've neglected  the place, inside and out, ever since it was a mere twinkle in the architect's eye.

To access  the documents I need to contact the own of a neighbouring flat . He chairs the management committee and keeps all the paperwork. Fortunately, I catch him on the day before he goes on holiday.

I get the feeling that  I'm being drip-fed queries from a long list and I wish I knew how many more to come before  the end.

Despite the million or so forms to complete and photocopy and the endless queries, I've found a bit of time to throw things out, literally. I lowered some black plastic bags from the walkway to the garage area yesterday. Roy was at the bottom, untying knots and chatting to one of the painters who'd stopped for lunch.  I must say they've made a splendid job of restoration - the block gleams like an ocean-going liner.

And the flat looks less like one in a TV programme I saw, called 'The Hoarder next Door'.