Houston: We have a problem

...and the problem is Ruth, our million-mile-an-hour landlady who, tonight, is planning to sleep on our sofa. Let me introduce you:

Ruth was widowed in November of 2009 and she talks about it a lot. In fact, she talks about everything a lot. You could sit and listen to her for 3 hours solidly without ever needing to have understood a word she said, because she doesn't stop for breath. Behind her high-necked coat, which she frequently adjusts to ensure it covers her mouth, she babbles (mostly unintelligibly) to us, dropping every other letter just to cement our confusion. She has never lived on her own, and her second husband is a much-missed companion around the house: as a result, she terrorises her daughters (of two different fathers) and grandchildren, flitting between their houses and our flat several times a week. Unfortunately for us, her daughters are used to their mother's antics by now, so they no longer answer the phone to her and they don't let her have the keys to their houses (oh! that we had caught on quicker!)- this is what has landed us in a predicament tonight, as she can't get hold of anybody to let her in to her daughter's house, where she's staying for a while before moving out of the city to Rancagua.

This is our current situation: Ruth is in the living room chatting away to our Brazilian flatmate, Cris, and a friend who has come round to see Cris for a drink; meanwhile, Anna and I are plotting how to get rid of Ruth without offending anyone. Cris' friend obviously finds Ruth as difficult to understand as we do, despite the fact that they are both Chilean, and he is starting to get frustrated with the gooseberry in their little party...

I'll keep you updated on how it goes and whether we are sharing our Cheerios with Ruth in the morning...

La Entusiasta
xxx