RANT

Bloody tradesmen. And bloody T for leaving me in this mess. Sometimes I despair. I really do. So, hoovering on Sunday in anticipation of Singapore Pam's visit (hope you're reading this and feeling honoured Pamela!), I discover that T's motorbike helmet, that's been sat behind the kitchen door since I collected it from the police station several months ago, is sat in a pool of water. Shit. No time to look into it, have to run out the door to meet people...

Monday - manage to pull the washing machine out (no mean feat) and discover that the pool of water extends under the washing machine and the kitchen units. In fact, the electric heater is sat in the middle of it too. Probably not that safe. Shit again. Go on the checkatrade website. Find a local plumber. He can come that night to take a look. Great. Said plumber calls later that day: 'Who are you again? What was the issue? Remind me of your address.' Hmmm. Plumber comes that evening as promised, says I need a new washing machine hose and a replacement tap thing. Cost: 'Let's think, £80...£90...£105 should do it'. Fine. I've got no idea how much I should be paying but I can't risk my kitchen ceiling caving in or massive water damage, so I'll pay £105. He can come the next day to fit it. Even better.

Today - on top of massive train delays this morning meaning I was an hour late getting to work, and massive bus delays this evening (I was explicit about the fact this is a rant)... the plumber turns up, fits the hose, asks, 'Is your husband at work?' Those who've been unlucky enough to have insight into my pysche will know that by this point I've already thought about the fact that the plumber might murder or rape me in my own home - or possibly both, or that as he knows I've been out today, he might tell his dodgy mates who might come and burgle the place. (This is in no way a judgement on his character btw. More an insight into my brain. Funny, I typed Brian then by mistake. That's the plumber's name...) Anyway, I found myself saying, 'Yes. He's at work.' Brian: 'He must work very late. What does he do?' Me: 'Oh, he works in IT in the City.' Yada yada. I wanted to punch his lights out. Not only had I let myself feel intimidated by him, but he was delving (probably in a very innocent, plumber kind of way) into my very personal life. And it was none of his bloody business. And I felt obliged to lie.

Anyway, I go and sit in another room to avoid punching his eyes out and wait for him to finish. 'How much do I owe you?', I ask when, 5 minutes later he's done. '£110', says Brian the chancer. 'Funny', says I, 'It's gone up £5 since yesterday'. 'Oh, I must be getting muddled up with another job... It's been a long day... ha ha... I meant £105... yes, it's definitely £105. You found me on the checkatrade site, you say? Well, I hope you might go on and fill out the review about me. No need to mention that I got the price muddled up.. ha ha.' Ha ha indeed, matey boy. When enough time has passed that he wouldn't be able to identify the review as being written by me (warped mind = if he does then he might come and get me in revenge for tarnishing his reputation), then I'll post an honest review. He wasn't all bad. He came when he said and was kind of polite I guess. I don't think he was a total cowboy or anything. But I reckon he took me for a bit of a ride. And he was nosy to boot. The biggest kick in the balls is that the washing machine still leaks, but what am I meant to do about that? Risk having to deal with Brian again or go through the whole procedure with another Brian? Oh, the joys of being a single woman, incapable of coping with DIY disasters. Come back T, all is forgiven.