On Tuesday morning I could hear all this clanking and clattering going on out the front of my little abode. The unmistakable sound of scaffolding poles being dropped from arm height in the way that men have of doing things as noisily as possible. Look at me, look at me. I’m a man working a man job.
Rewind some time back to early Summer when my neighbour’s ridge stones were perilously close to dropping on the head of anyone who happened to come near her front door. My little barking doggies can testify to the numerous visitors that walk past our front door daily as she is an avid Temu and Amazon shopper and gets most of her meals and weed delivered too. She has one of those ring doorbells that make that annoying echoingly loud, ding ding ding sound. Three fucking times in case you’re in the left wing of your mansion and can’t hear. On bad days I sing along with it, ‘I’m a retard, I’m a retard, I’m a retard.
So anyway the neighbour on my other side had spotted how seriously dangerous they looked. There were several long brick type things at various angles and at several stages of falling off her roof. I don’t look up at a roof very often so to be honest some Uber Eats delivery guy could have been badly concussed if not worse before I’d have noticed and even then I’d have thought well there’s plenty more incoming on the next rubber dingy to replace him. Even so it was duly reported.
The previous day I had wallpapered a feature wall in my living room and this particular morning I was moving stuff back, cutting off dried edges with my trusty Stanley knife and replacing the door curtain pole when the clattering started. So far putting the pole back up I’d used 23 different sized screws from my ‘handy screws and metal bits saved never to be used again’ box and made 43 different sized holes in the wall. My walls are made of some social housing strength impenetrable substance that also immediately disintegrates whenever you get to the required length inside the wall to hold something up. Eventually after much swearing all was sorted and I’d Prit sticked a bit of wallpaper to cover the damage caused rehanging something which had hung perfectly fine before I fucking wallpapered.
So I went out for a nosey.…. I had a little bit of instant deja vu when a toddler in high viz spots me and says ‘allright love?’. If only I could have an ounce of patience but it’s like a low level rumbling of irritation as soon as I look at a workboy. He showed me his phone that said they’d been told to erect scaffolding outside mine too. I asked him what was wrong with my ridging and he spoke in roofish for a few minutes so I was none the wiser. He was trampling all over my winter pansies that may have been small because the fucking slugs have been at them but that’s not the point. I should have said something but instead I asked if they wanted a cup of tea. His mate at the bottom of the stairs didn’t want ‘a brew’. I offered tea, coffee or juice and he declined. Apparently he was ‘hanging’ because of the steps. Bless him imagine being all of 12 and not being fit enough to carry scaffolding up our front steps. I made a proper cup of builders tea with two sugars for the one of them and said just leave it here in the porch when you’re done. He seemed very grateful.
Talking of which it was bin day and I’d already heard a man child having a little cry and shouting about DRAGGING THE BINS UP THE HILL AND IT NEEDS SORTING! They used to collect our garden recycling but health and safety deemed it too much for their backs so I have to drag my own up the hill behind my house now. It’s ok if it does my back in because I only pay £50 a year for the pleasure. Back in Spring one of them was so busy spitting his dummy out and swearing he knocked most of June’s plastic death head mushrooms over. She reported him and got a swift apology from bradistan council. She says the bin men wear bodycams so it will all have been on camera. I didn’t know that. I’m sure I had a life once.
So as I finish writing this another day has passed and it’s like living in a cave it’s so dark. There is no sign of the roofers and the biggest cup I could find in my cupboard has vanished into scaffolding land.
*UPDATE*
My curtain pole has fallen down three times and is now residing on the chair until I feel the mental capacity to cope with trying again and there has been no sign of any roofers. I guess it must be wine o’ clock. Cheers!
