A record of those unimportant little things that are too important to be forgotten.
Showing posts with label Richard Sloma. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Richard Sloma. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 18, 2015
"Never try to solve all the problems at once — make them line up for you one-by-one ".
The ancient Godin is finally maneuvered out of the upstairs kitchen. There is a moment of breathless excitement as one of the shaven headed lads loses his grip. Despite the best efforts of the remaining lads the old cooker falls and bounces balletically down the stairs. A beam on the terrace is broken by the shock of a ton and a bit of steel and brass landing on it.
The discarded kitchen units, the cooker hood and the venerable Godin are loaded on a trailer. It has rained overnight. The builders have failed to notice that the trailer has sunk up to its axles in mud. Their van tries to pull it out but it too gets stuck. Phone calls are made and cigarettes smoked. There is much shoulder shrugging.
More builders arrive. The crack in the terrace is deemed to be serious. The builders disappear. They return with half a dozen metal supports. These are put in place to support the terrace should it decide to collapse.
A mate of the builder has a Jeep Wrangler. This is called upon to pull out the van. It does. The trailer however is immune to being moved. '' It's stuck fast ". The builders mate has a tractor. He disappears to get it. The builders cluster in a circle and smoke.
Meanwhile, back in the house the water has been turned off due to a tiny problemette with a burst pipe. The electricity is also off. There is a reason for this but Angus doesn't want to know what it is. Sophie is miffed that the builders haven't brought biscuits. Bob lets me know that there are people in the house. I explain to them that their vocal contributions to the days events is not helping their masters inner karma.
By six the builders have gone and the water and electricity are back on. The promised tractor has not shown up so the trailer with the venerable Godin continues to sink deeper into the muddy ox track. Bob settles down on his wooden table and sleeps. His sister, still turbo-charged after the days excitement, sits on guard.
The Rickety Old Farmhouse is now just that little bit more rickety. 'The Font' who is back in London phones to ask how the day went. '' Fine, just fine " I hear myself saying.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)