PASS THE ASS'S MILK

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...