Go away: it's Sunday and I'm couch-bound!

Unfortunately, I've missed the last couple of days of lovely weather (of which there haven't been many this summer), due to some mystery illness that's seen me drifting in and out of sleep on the couch.

Even my BBC Pride and Prejudice DVD was sick of it all today, deciding to play up in patches. And no, before you ask, I haven't worn out the part where Colin Firth jumps in the lake. I'm no Bridget Jones.

I made a huge effort to get up and feign good health this morning, for the benefit of a couple of prospective new tenants of the flat. Why they had to come on a Sunday, I don't know. The property manager didn't come - since she doesn't work on Sundays - so I was a bit put out that I couldn't declare the flat closed, too... like all businesses dealing in essentials. (I did miss 7-day shopping when I arrived here, though I'm used to it now.)

I considered using my illness as an excuse to shut the flat for quarantine purposes, but my German is too limited to make elaborate excuses. I could have croaked "Schweinegrippe" through the intercom when the visitors arrived, but that would have been about it. If only, I thought, I could have implied that I was suffering something mould-related, that would've sent 'em running.

Instead, there were quizzes about electricity and heating costs, how much sunlight gets into the flat in the mornings (considering it's partially underground), and when, definitely, the property would be vacant (leaving on August 31 - flights to Birmingham are booked). All of this took place in German, giving me the chance to make a complete idiot of myself by getting halfway through a sentence about electricity consumption before realising I didn't know how to finish it. It only emerged just as they were leaving that they could speak English.

"This my room," my daughter said proudly, pointing.

"Yes, your room," one of the visitors said. "It's pink!" And indeed it is. Here's proof: a photo of my daughter, then aged 16 months, in her newly-painted room.

After that, the visitors said "goodbye" and "danke", and went outside, where they burst out laughing as soon as the building door was closed. It was all clearly, uncomfortably audible due to the open windows. (Ventilation is vital in the fight against mould.)

Nobody likes the feeling of being laughed at, but I've become used to people thinking wrong things about me here (ie that my daughter has "two mothers", or that I'm English), so I decided that whatever they were laughing at, I didn't care.

Besides, if they move into this flat, the final joke will be on them.