As expected, a damp squall has blown in from the West. It’s radio silence from the errant trades. Not a peep. No apology for non-appearance. Nothing. Just the sound of a frustrated tattoo being smashed out on my laptop, keyboard glowing hot, the air blue with expletives. I don’t dare ring the builder for fear of unleashing a verbal kraken. Instead, I sit stewing, scowling out the window at the pitiful spotty raindrops.
Eventually, gathering every ounce of self-composure I can muster, I text. Polite. Respectful. No capitals. No ‘where the f*** are you?’ but a more restrained ‘I guess you’re not coming today?’ My tooth-gritting restraint must have travelled down the phone line eliciting a whiny response about working at height in windy weather. Be there tomorrow. Yeah? I’ve heard that one before.
Fast forward to lunch - tasty snackette of marmalade slathered crispbreads topped with hard-boiled egg. (Weirdo!). The doorbell rings. ‘What now?’ I mutter rudely with a gob full of half-chewed food. Hastily swallowed, I brush off my crumbed chest with a few aerobic sweeps then head for the front door. ‘Hello. You must be the abseiling plumber, licensed to scale scaffolding in a force 5. Come on in.’
No doubt a peace offering from Vlad who must have realised by now that although I may be small, inoffensive looking and make a good cuppa, I’m strictly a ‘no-nonsense’ type of gal. My pipework now beautifully teed in to the main soil waste pipe, let’s hope these peeps keep their promises to finish this cladding tomorrow.
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| From this |
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| To this |
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| Handbasin & shower overflows tee'd in to main soil stack |
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