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...

Storing Up Trouble

The beginning of the end-of-May mid-term break was always going to begin the way it all began - a slow Saturday morning in sleepy Datchet. The dogs had quit barking by daybreak, and the natives had rolled home later than that, after a night of hooch at the Morning Star. The postman wouldn't knock at all that day, and nobody knew or cared whether the sub-Post Office had even opened on time. Sure, the Tesco Express checkout machines had been powered up, but nobody came.

Suddenly, just two hours short of High Noon... Pickford's Boys rolled into town. An outrider cut a path into the Lawn Close cul-de-sac, and was followed in by the main wagon... These boys had obviously done this sort of thing before. The sleeping dogs began to get twitchy, and their owners' curtains too. I reached for my kettle.


Pickford's Boys circled their wagon as best they could in the 'sac, and set up camp outside Andy's place. Soon they were headed straight over the driveway - they didn't care that it was the meanest looking driveway in the Close, and they just put the boot to the weedy concrete. But they were no cowboys - they talked business like they meant it, had a cuppa, and began dismantling the place...

They took my furniture to pieces, boxed my [b]ears, and other stuff too. The strangest thing was that nothing was busted by the time they'd finished. Don't get me wrong, these guys were no angels - and they could have smashed up everything if they'd had a mind to. But they knew that I had them covered - my trigger-finger was on my pen barrel the whole time, and my eye was sizing up the small print. That was my insurance policy.

"Awright... Let's git yer shifted then, mate!" (but in Polish)

Easy does it... Hup!

By the time it was all over, Pickford's Boys had pretty much cleaned me out. I didn't know when I'd see the family jewels again. Sure, I knew they'd be holed-up in Pickford's stash-house over by Reading, but I couldn't imagine that I'd go sticking my nose into that neck of the woods, at least not until I'd repaired the roof over my head. The insurance company had long ago stopped talking about renovations being completed by mid-March, and even mention of it being completed by late June was someone speaking with forked tongue - I was just hoping it wouldn't end up in an Indian summer. Anyway, at last the reconstruction workers had room to swing their lead and get plasterboarded - all the ceiling-less rooms they wanted, and the floorless attic too.

When all was said and done at the end of that long day, Pickford's Boys had stirred the brown stuff plenty, and one even took three sugars with his. At least I still had my kettle - Pickford's Boys couldn't take that away from me, and they knew not to try...