Ceiling is believing....

Yesterday, a leak from the flat above us, meant only one thing; the return of Mr Pickles.

He wafted in on a faint cloud of mildew, tutted at the price of nailvarnish, called me his 'tea princess' and disappeared into the roof space with a monkey wrench and a copy of Elle magazine.

Every so often, he'd poke his head through the ceiling hatch and ask a question (eg. 'can you recycle condoms?')

Occasionally, he'd dispense advice to the customers.
At one point, I had a nun in, asking what she could take for nausea. Before I even opened my mouth, a disembodied voice from above recommended ginger tea...
For a brief moment, I could see her wondering if a celestial being was talking to her.....but then Pickles put his head through the trap, said 'ello doll' to her, asked for a tea with 5 sugars, and informed us that he was desperate for a wee.

From angel to mortal in two seconds flat......