Thursday, 24 November 2016

Working man...

There were men in my house when I got home from work yesterday afternoon.  Armed with ladders, and wearing those natty leather belts which workmen (and many women) love.  You know the ones, they have deep pockets for the things necessary to do their jobs:

One pocket is for Ketchup (or HP if you are that way inclined) just in case the lady of the house offers a bacon sandwich

Another is deep enough to hold a large mug for the obligatory tea breaks at 8.30/10.30/12.30/2.30 (the last one is just before they pack up and go home)

One is needed for the mobile phone.  This is interchangeable with the sauce pocket depending on which iPhone they have, but is also available for a pocket radio for the more senior workman.

Screws - these will be at least seven different sizes, none of which will be applicable to the job on that particular day, but much rummaging will take place just on the off chance that a Number 6 Self-Tapping Screw will be lurking in the dusty folds of the pocket.

So back to my men.  They were replacing all my ceiling lights throughout the house with fancy LED ones, which last longer and use less energy apparently.  Now I had got quite used to one light working out of a possible six in my bathroom, and to say that I was shocked when I went up for a shower last night would be an understatement.  There was my face in full down lit glory, with nowhere for my wrinkles and age spots to hide.  I might ask the husband to install a dimmer switch on the bathroom lights, just to give me a chance in the morning to walk from the door to the shower without making myself jump as I glimpse my haggard pre-makeup face in the mirror.

It would appear from the electricians' relief to see me, that the dogs had been rather a nuisance while I'd been at work.  How did I know this?  Well they had put the barrier up across the bottom stair, so that the dogs couldn't follow them upstairs while they were working.  I know what they're like, and I can just imagine the two of them sitting and staring at the electricians, their eyes narrowed while they salivated over the carpet.  I thought it best to remove the dogs, so headed out into the Autumn sunshine for a brisk walk.

Getting back to the car having negotiated some wild terrain (mainly mud) I met a lady with two larger dogs who was just returning to her car.  She made a real fuss of my two, and then said that once her dogs had died (little tactless I thought, especially as the two dogs were about my age in dog years) she wanted a dog like mine, as she liked the idea of being able to pick a dog up.

Now she obviously hasn't encountered Percy and his Tardis belly.  Picking him up is now restricted to after baths and for vet visits.  Every time I pick him up (after some deep breaths, and a few stretching exercises) I say a quick, silent thank you...

Because amongst the asthma, arthritis, migraines and a tendency to put on half a stone every time I watch Bake Off, I have one thing I am very grateful for.

A strong pelvic floor.

If Mother Nature has not been so kind in that department to the lady in the car park,  I think she'll need a smaller dog....
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