Almost finished

Almost finished on the ground floor...

... Upstairs new windows will be installed next week. The five doors for the upstairs rooms will arrive... or maybe not...

Today they took everything, and the Kitchen Sink

My cooker didn't stir;
She just upped chopsticks and left me.

My kitchen ceiling didn't fall;
He just blew his cover and got spirited away.

My kitchen units have been counted upon thrice,
And always come to naught.

But the kitchen sink wasn't thinking about it;
She just got carried away.

Still, I've got my curvy kettle,

And water from the garden hose,
And I've found myself a wee bucket for water,
That'll cool the milk, the wine, and my summer toes.

My Little Lintel

Little Lintel arrived mid-morning in Datchet, after travelling overnight from Scotland, where he had worked for many years with the heavy industry giant, Irn Bru. He was travelling light, for a girder. Datchet had everything he needed for this, his last job, his retirement package.


Little Lintel nodded politely to every metal object in sight. With his Glasgow Cowboy stride, he attracted admiring glances. He glided easily up to my front door.



Little Lintel nodded approvingly, as the ranch-hands put in place temporary support for the ceilings.






As the ranch-hands chipped away at the old brickwork, making a space to slot him in, Little Lintel joked, "What's the hold up?!"

"You are!" was the ranch-hands' cheery reply.


With his easy manner and a reputation for patience, Little Lintel was going to be perfect for this job.

The time finally arrived for our new man to do his stuff. With a heave and a ho, Little Lintel was up and slotted...









After settling in, Little Lintel was provided with a plasterboard jacket...


Then he asked if he could get plastered, just once, to help him girder his loins for the many years of honourable Atlasesque service that lie ahead. We'll be sure to arrange that soon - it's the least we can do for the wee man.

And doubtless he'll still be holding up the back of my house long after I'm gone... :)

Whitewash!

Yesterday in Datchet, painters descended on a house in Lawn Close, sporting paint-splattered clothes, and carrying paint-pots and rollers. Neighbours were aghast as the owner of number 57 welcomed the men to the village and invited them into his home.

"We don't need any more colour in Datchet. We've got a Morris Dancers society for that", grumbled a neighbour.


Not all residents agreed. "There's a recession on, and there aren't many high-rollers splashing out around here. I think they could brighten things up", said a lady with lurid fingernails.


Attempting to gloss over the furore, a spokesman for the painters, Matt Black, said, "Our hands are clean". Bristling, he added, "It's not as if it's painting by numbers, is it? You've got to work very hard in order to be creative with white base coat."



At the entrance to number 57, the owner, Mr Aendereew MecEenteeth (sic), declined to comment, except to say, "It's a complete whitewash! There's nothing more to add until the next time, when the cover-up will be exposed."

Tap and dub, and plaster skim

"Hi, buddy. Plasterer!?... [handshake] We'll be doing some tap and dub, then give your walls a skim..."

"Very good. Come on in", I replied, before starting to reflect on what he had just said. So, why would an English plasterer talk American, and do a dance routine and electronic dance mix before starting renovation works?

On further reflection... when he said "give your walls a skim", did he mean to cover the walls with a light covering of plaster, or was he intending some sort of dance shuffle across the walls?

Skim and dub = plasterboard pinned to the walls, as a base for plaster.

Plaster skim = plaster, but just a thin skin of it, on walls and ceilings...

Lulu

lunedi 13 juin

Yahoo!
Skip fills my view;
Yes, this view's news,
If I may call it a view.

Toodle-oo!
The driver's out of view;
Now you're mine,
All mine, my darling!

Yellow and blue,
My skip fills my view.
My neighbours all smile,
Seems they want to use it too.

But boo-hoo!
It's not for you,
So toodle-oo, my darlings!

It's mine, all mine,
I'm going to get my fill of it;
You want to give too,
But I'm having none of it.

The postman addresses it,
Says he wants to start feeding it.
The tailor's all a-buzz,
And wants to beespoke a bit.
Now here's the dry-cleaner,
Very imppressed by it,
But the milkman's sour-faced,
And gone and put his float in it.

I used to do wheelies,
Now I just skip,
Not much to look at,
But still worth the tip!?

Brand new!
Skip fills my view;
I fill it up,
With stuff that's old, not new.
The bigger the better,
It's so very true,
I skip to the skip, my darling!

The bin men in awe,
Are very impressed by it.
The recycle guys,
They want a piece of it.
Here's a cold-caller,
Bandit tried to sell me it;
I defend your murals, my darling!

Big yellow-blue skip,
You're titanic!
I mean, like a life-boat,
That's saved me from panic.

Andy's Ark,
Can't take anything smelly;
But you're kind of cute,
With your shiny yellow-belly.

To whit, to who!?
Now the birds have come too;
Blackbirds, brown birds,
And other hues too.

Chirp, whistle, craw!
Now the birds have flown into it;
Blackbirds, brown birds,
Drop lots of white shtuff in it.

Woof, Meeeow!
Cat's in the middle of it,
Neighbour's dog growls,
Wags "Wanna have a piece of that!"

Fluffy rabbit says,
"Lettuce please have a piece of it?";
Gerbil's hit the road,
Clearly had enough of it.

Foxie too,
Wants to have a stake in it.
But squirrel and rat,
They're having none of it;
Sensible too, my darlings!

All through the day,
I'll skip around
And around my skip;
But in the midday sun,
I'll lie shaded
By its cooling lip.

And even if it rains,

I'll just splash around and around in it,
And when the water settles,
I'll then splash up and down a bit.

Later in the shade,
As the sun completes its fall;
I'll light a big candle,
And place it amidst your hollowed walls.

Cinders, cinders, burning bright,
Towards the middle of the night,
I'll turn the lights down just a smidgen,
'Cause you need your beauty sleep,
You unkempt wee midden.

So I'll slip on my slippers,

And skip on up the stairs,
And I'll dim all the lights,
But I'll know that you're still there.

I'll have the sweetest dreams of you, my skip;

Even sleep-walking in my kip,
Straight into your ample arms, my skip,
Yes, down, down, down,
Into your deep dark all-embracing pit.

And, of course,
Eventually,
When I desire to have a pee,
I'll twist, I'll turn, I'll fumble in thee.

And I'll fill thee up, my loving cup,
I'll spill no drop, you'll sup and sup.
Oh yes, my dear, you'll gurgle, burp,
As I thrill thee, swirl thee, stir ye up.

Later still, lying, charmed, lit-up,

I'll find some way,
I'll make things up.
And by the light of this,
My silvery lune,
I'll embrace you,
I'll bend you,
I'll be your loving spoon.

And under this moon,

All at once eclipsed,
I'll be your silvery lune,
And curl-up forever in your hips.

So, it's lu-lu..., skip with the lune,
Lu-lu..., lune in the moon,
Lu-lu..., an inch short of a foot,
But you're the shoe that fits
My pumpkin, darling!

The Set Up

It was... a set-up, as I believe they call it in the murky world of private contracts. The evidence was there for all to see - at first hidden around the side of the house, but then footsteps coming to a halt on my doorstep.

set up - first day on site (stuff for the ceilings)

All along they'd known where I lived - I knew it, and they knew I knew it. For months I'd known they would come calling some day. But then it seemed they never would. They'd kept me waiting for so long, to the point where I'd probably never know the day, the hour, certainly not the exact moment, when they'd come into my life, trample all over my home, and kick up the dust that was my very existence, in my very bread and butter.

Not that I hadn't been keeping lookout, steeling myself for the fateful day. There had been the short winter days, when it was only dark shadows lingering around my driveway. Then wet Spring days, when only the weeds crept around the trees that bordered the house. So many false alarms, false starts.

Now, early summer, I was laid back, focused on seeding the rear lawn, and my readiness born of anticipation had morphed into uncertainty - a 'whatever' and 'whenever' attitude that lingered around my conversation like the morning-after smell of a badly-rinsed ashtray.

It was mid-morning, 8th of June, a full three-and-a-half weeks since the last time I'd had any inclination that they might show. The waiting was the worst of it, but they never showed.

Now they were at my front door. They knew where I lived, and they knew I was home.

Two of them had come. Nothing fancy - just two heavies in an unmarked van, much the same as any other van you'd see in the M25 rush hour. As it cruised along, there was nothing to suggest who they were, what they were up to, where they were headed. For the heavies, I was just another contract job. The big boss had set it up - he wanted to make a killing.

They were tooled up, and easily could have taken my front door off its hinges. But that wasn't part of the plan. Everything was to be handled professionally. I was wide open. So they came straight in, and got stuck in, with no messing about. What a racket. Anything that was in their way was cut up, smashed up, taken out - whatever it took. These guys were switched on, committing batteries then charging all over the place.

Okay, maybe they weren't actually wrecking the joint, or tearing anyone limb from limb, but they were literally pulling nails out, and asking questions as they went along. Then just when I thought I was turning a corner, the floorboards were rising up to meet me, and the lights went out; but not for long. Were there no depths they weren't prepared to go to?

I was backed into my desk and couldn't get close to the kettle. So I hid behind the cover of my laptop as best I could, waiting for a lull in the action. Turned out that I'd have to wait a long time. But eventually things quietened down. They seemed to have got what they wanted from their visit.

The big guy squared up to me. He told me they hadn't finished with me yet, and they'd be back - but he was the strong silent type, short on facts, so didn't tell me when. Anyway, I was merely the name on the contract at the end of the day; a mere detail to be dealt with at their leisure.

Once they'd left, I surveyed the scene. To my surprise, when I looked up I couldn't see the rafters or roof tiles anymore - there were ceiling-boards where for six months there had been empty space and stars up above.

at last... ceiling!

...and more ceiling!

...and another, different ceiling!

I wasn't about to complain. Maybe there was more to their racket than I'd thought. Maybe I'd get more out of this if I played along with them next time. I'd have to think this through.

So I clicked my kettle into action, filled my teapot with Georgian green tea (loose, one heaped teaspoon, of course), prepared some rough oatcakes topped with garlic Boursin, and lined up two ginger nuts for afters - I had to get my act together before their return, and this seemed a good way to start.

At last, everything was coming up roses; or maybe I was just deceiving myself...