The Camera Saga, part one zillion

My camera has now become well-travelled in Kraków. It has made the trek out to the Kodak service centre no less than five times, come rain or shine. This comes at no small personal risk: the pedestrian crossing over the Aleja shows a green light for just long enough to cross one carriageway, but not quite enough to get all the way to the other side of the road, so you are obliged to sprint across the central reservation to make it to the other lane before the green man starts flashing.
It has been passed around helpful friends with different working hours, and has been shown to anyone who might have a vague idea about mechanics.
Today, I finally marched out to the shop in the sunshine during my lunch break. Victory! The shutters were up! Inside, the camera repair man sat: he was a smiling grandfather type wearing one of those magnifying visors like an old-fashioned watchmaker in a fairytale. I showed him where the problem was, and he seemed quite happy to let me muddle through in Polglais, only once or twice prompting me in pretty fluent English. He asked me what I was doing in Poland, thought it was nice (but clearly weird, from his look) that I was a translator, and was generally very charming.
I am to go back in a week.
I can't wait.


Not content with renovating her own kiosk, the Bad Obwarzanki Lady has had the two derelict huts either side demolished. Clearly this new progress on the road to world domination has mollified her, and last time I approached for apples and juice she was pretty pleasant to me.