number 96

Things are changing here at number 96. I’m moving out in four months, have begun preparing the house for tenants. Dan and Joyce have put their unit on the market. Joyce popped in the other day to ask if I’d prepare an owners corporation certificate as I’m the current chair of our small body.

Dan has been down to 45 kilograms, had all kinds of tests on lungs and stomach, nothing found. Now he’s back to 48 kgs. The smell of Joyce’s Christmas roast leaps the back fence at a single bound. She seems to have done a Boxing Day roast too, trying to fatten Dan up. Dan brings an empty bin down the driveway; he may have put on three kilos but he’s still a shambling cadaver.

Michelle has settled into unit 4. Daughter Shelby sticks the L-plates to the front and rear windows of their silver car and away they go. A bloke in a red Corolla parks in front of her garage; he has the air of a ‘boyfriend’ and a parcel in his hand. Michelle is not at home. He knocks again and again, them pulls out his mobile.

Bullyboy Jim, owner of unit 3, rings my bell recently. He’s almost affable these days, seems to have accepted that we are self-managing and not using a property manager as he would prefer. He’s trimmed all the shrubs along the drive as his contribution to keeping things ‘legal’. The rest of us would call it keeping things tidy.

I drag the Masport, our only common property, from under the house, fire it up in the driveway. It takes about seven minutes to mow the lawns in front of units 2 and 4, ten to do the nature strip. I unlock the electricity box by the front gate, reset the timer for the lights down the drive.

When next I encounter Michelle I’ll put it to her that she should be the next chair of the owners corporation. I’ll still be part of it as I’ll still own unit 1, but the chair should live on site and I won’t any longer.

I’ve been thinking about how to attract good tenants. Teachers at the local Steiner school are possible tenants. My house should appeal to alternative types who want a garden and would look after one.

The odds are that I’ll not live here a third time, but who can say what vicissitudes life has in store for us. I’ve poured my heart and soul into this house and garden. Twice. I love this little house, will leave it in good condition, and can’t bear the thought of it populated by people I neither know nor approve of.

Rock on.