I am bored of incompetent men.

I've been back at Uni for two weeks and already I am plotting new and ingenious ways to murder my landlord. It appears a group of girls have signed for our house for next year. Poor them.

Over Easter the Ratman from the council came around and told us that the poison he had left had not been touched and that we had no rats. It sounded distinctly like he was irritated with us for wasting his time, but when you hear scratching most nights and have seen a rat running across the kitchen floor you can't help but think that there might be rats in the house, right?! Well, a week later a dead rat was spotted on the back step, presumably poisoned. We christened him Henry. A few days later there was a delightful smell in the kitchen. Now with the sink having been leaking dirty water into the cupboard for a while now, we put it down to that, until the bluebottles arrived. Yes, another dead rat (Horace-Hamley) under the sink. Ratman was phoned, and he told us that unless we had droppings and scurrying noises we still don't have rats, so they're not coming out again. Excuse me for thinking I can do his job better, but there are two dead rats in my wheelie bin. I can't help but think we do have an infestation.

Landlord of course has been as helpful as ever, by traumatising one of the girls by waving a rat corpse at her, and telling us to do the washing-up. It's a difficult thing to make yourself do when you know your feet will get a good bath as soon as you turn the tap on. He's coming round this week to cut the grass. Apparently cut grass and a half-built shed will sell the house better than working appliances and a lack of rats.

As for other men, I've bored everyone to death this week moaning about them. I'm trying my luck with someone who is technically off limits, until next week. With any luck we'll manage to get round to actually going on a date before he leaves....