Sunday, March 11, 2007
GLASS HOUSES
Most of you will be relieved to learn that posting and commenting may be fairly intermittent over the next few days. We're getting our winders replaced. Oh, and there's a check up at the dentist to face. Things could only be more fun if one of us ends up in hospital.
I hate builders or fitters doing work. Not only do you have to spend a week attempting to make the house look as if it's lived in by normal, tidy people beforehand, but you have to sit in a corner away from them, doing nothing and being scared of getting in their way.
Every half an hour I have to meekly ask them in a squeaky, timid voice if they want another cup of tea, which they always do. Then I run out of mugs and have to do some washing up while attempting to not get in their way ... there's something ... have we got enough mugs? I need to buy some more mugs! How many? Will a dozen do? Fifty? A hundred?
Oh yes, and during a tea break you inevitably end up in a stilted conversation where the gaffer tells you how difficult it is to get youngsters to train up these days because THEY ALL THINK THE WORLD OWES THEM A LIVING. Indeed, he got somebody sent from the Job Centre who *one day* he'd be able to pay a decent wage, once he was trained up, and all he did was turn up late and put in half an hour's substandard work before skiving off!
Yeah, and you can't really use your bathroom when they're around, can you? When we had our bathroom tiled, each day at around eleven o'clock we'd say "um, we're just going out for a bit" and trek off to the BHS in the town centre to have a good clear out in the toilets there. Which wasn't a very pleasant experience because pairs of old women had already stunk them out as well, after having a slice of dry cherry cake and sharing a pot of watery tea in the restaurant.
Oh no - what sort of biscuits do they like? Are they going to say "that bitch only got custard creams. We deserved the Fox's variety selection in a tin at least, what with all the graft we've put in"?
Oh, and then there's paying them. They don't want credit card or cheque transactions - they expect you to get eight grand out of the bank's hole in the wall on the same day!
I'm going off to have a good cry now.
I hate builders or fitters doing work. Not only do you have to spend a week attempting to make the house look as if it's lived in by normal, tidy people beforehand, but you have to sit in a corner away from them, doing nothing and being scared of getting in their way.
Every half an hour I have to meekly ask them in a squeaky, timid voice if they want another cup of tea, which they always do. Then I run out of mugs and have to do some washing up while attempting to not get in their way ... there's something ... have we got enough mugs? I need to buy some more mugs! How many? Will a dozen do? Fifty? A hundred?
Oh yes, and during a tea break you inevitably end up in a stilted conversation where the gaffer tells you how difficult it is to get youngsters to train up these days because THEY ALL THINK THE WORLD OWES THEM A LIVING. Indeed, he got somebody sent from the Job Centre who *one day* he'd be able to pay a decent wage, once he was trained up, and all he did was turn up late and put in half an hour's substandard work before skiving off!
Yeah, and you can't really use your bathroom when they're around, can you? When we had our bathroom tiled, each day at around eleven o'clock we'd say "um, we're just going out for a bit" and trek off to the BHS in the town centre to have a good clear out in the toilets there. Which wasn't a very pleasant experience because pairs of old women had already stunk them out as well, after having a slice of dry cherry cake and sharing a pot of watery tea in the restaurant.
Oh no - what sort of biscuits do they like? Are they going to say "that bitch only got custard creams. We deserved the Fox's variety selection in a tin at least, what with all the graft we've put in"?
Oh, and then there's paying them. They don't want credit card or cheque transactions - they expect you to get eight grand out of the bank's hole in the wall on the same day!
I'm going off to have a good cry now.
Labels: Agnetha Faltskog's weird stalker, custard creams, pairs of old women, patio doors, winders, Wyndham Triffid - why??
