I'm having a new ensuite bathroom put in. The builders have been here 5 weeks. Count them. 1-2-3-4-5.
That’s weeks not builders.
Sometimes they appear dressed as The Invisible Man and strangely
no work gets done. They are bringing the marble grain by grain from the
foothills of the Appalachian Mountains in North Dakota and reconstituting it
into slabs on site. At least that’s what they told me but they haven’t
started yet as they are drilling for copper beneath the North Sea to forge into
pipes for the water supply.
Luckily I have become quite attached to living on my living-room
floor. And I have another bathroom which we all share though I’ve drawn
the line at communal showers. I now speak fluent Kosovan but they still
can’t speak English. When I asked if the toilet would be wall hung, they
thought I wanted to know if Tolek (the plumber) was well hung.
As I’m now sleeping nearer the front door, when I pass away from old
age it won’t be so far for them to carry me out. And my children will,
maybe, one day, have a nice new bathroom which the new owner of my flat - because
they’ll sell it before I’ve gone cold - will want to rip out.
Still, mustn't crumble. Worse things happen at sea. And the inconvenience is self-inflicted so I shouldn't complain. I just wish they'd pack up and p*ss off so I can start to clean the thickening layer of dust and access my winter clothes now the weather's turned...
