Diary – 10 November 2016

Seeing Trump win reminds me of a season of Dynasty in which my character, Alexis, ran for governor of Colorado against her nemesis, Blake Carrington. We used a bunch of dirty tricks, from kidnappings to accusations of murder, to embarrass, undermine and knife each other in the back. Viewers scoffed. Politicians would never do anything so underhanded and evil to each other. Really?

As hysterical as America gets, however, it’s still more peaceful than London. Our quiet residential street in Belgravia now resembles a building site. There are massively major renovations underway on the buildings to our left, to our right, the four flats above us, and two directly opposite us. To say this is tiresome is like saying Donald Trump is no wallflower. The view on our street is an intricate lacework of dirty scaffolding and ladders that would delight any of those wannabe Spider-Man street jumpers or free runners or whatever they’re called. Not that I wish to encourage any more excitement — my heart won’t take it.

To make matters worse, another colossal scaffold was erected at the back of my flat last June. Since then it has stood unused, blocking our view and our light, while the owner says he’s ‘sorry’ but that it’s due to ‘circumstances beyond his control’ – oh sure.

As a result of all this work, we’ve had a flood, and our hot water, heating, electricity, cable and internet have been cut off at various times. There is endless persistent drilling reminiscent of the dentist scene in Marathon Man, and hammering that starts at 8 a.m. and proceeds unabated until 6 p.m., six days a week. Complaints to Westminster council have elicited sympathy and an empathic ‘What can we do?’ shrug of the shoulders.

‘When will it all end?’ I wailed to the friendly man from the council.