A White Flag

Well yesterday was certainly eventful wasn’t it?  My scrap with Mrs Vito was the talk of the town.  After our initial blow up she continued to yell and complain to anyone who would listen to her and I continued to flush my toilet so that water came down the pipe and onto her precious granite below, even splashing her workers a few times.

breaking-bad-i-won

But as you can no doubt guess from my GIF – I won.  I won this particular battle.  Thanks to The Turk.  Always The Turk.

While Mrs Vito continued to carry on outside and I continued to flush my toilet inside The Turk did what The Turk always does and stepped in behind the scenes.  After a discreet chat with Prince’s William and Harry (Mrs Vito’s boys) a hush fell over the battleground, shovels were downed and all was quiet.  It was an eerie quiet too.  An uneasy quiet before the battle resumes.  So I flushed … again.

Yes thanks to The Turk a white flag appears to have been raised by Mrs Vito (albeit by William and Harry) when their plumber arrived on the scene and immediately got started on re-routing our pipes (at no cost to us).  So how did The Turk manage to fix this family debacle?  Was the threat of a horse head in someone’s bed necessary?  No, not really.  The Turk merely pointed out that Vito and Harry (who sell maydanoz and nane to restaurants throughout the city) needs water from MY water pump to keep their produce fresh.  The Turk suggested that should our pipes not be returned to their former glory or an appropriate facsimile sorted before dark then MY pump would no longer be available to them.  Within twenty minutes the plumber arrived and within two hours I was able to poop and flush.

I won!

I told The Turk that I wanted an apology from her.  He said I was dreaming but I’m holding out.  There is officially a grudge and officially I get now why my MIL and both of my SIL hate Mrs Vito with a passion.  Last night was spent on my SIL’s terrace drinking vino and listening to them both bitch about the bitch meanwhile Mrs Vito closed all her curtains and slammed her front door a good few times.  We giggled.  I am no longer Switzerland, well maybe I am still Switzerland but this is a darker, edgier Switzerland.  This is the Switzerland of Mrs Vito’s nightmares!  Beware of Switzerland baby.

You have been warned!

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