Signature

In my own mind, and there alone, apart from the world weariness and that my new spectacles are a little more Eric Morecambe than they appeared in the shop I was looking very catwalkesque in the finest tailoring M&S offer yesterday morning. Lately, I mostly exist in one of two states; late or tired. At that time I was both. My mind was busily wondering how it was that I was getting in the car fifteen minutes later than I’d planned to when Martin appeared. Unlike me he was sporting the fashion of a geography teacher in a rural comprehensive. When late and tired my social skills may not be all they could be. I think he’d begun talking before I’d registered that he was there. He was offering me an envelope which I assumed contained the party wall agreement. He was mid-sentence when I said “Is it signed?”. “I’ve put a little note in to clarify a few points. It may seem that we’re being a bit over particular about things but..”. “but you’ve signed it?”. “Yes”. “Thanks Martin” and I got in the car and headed off to Nottingham (In my mind the sun was temporarily eclipsed by the series of hats I threw in the air). When traffic lights or queuing traffic would allow I reviewed his two page list of conditions dependent upon which he had signed the PWA. He/They wanted more detailed drawings of the guttering, he only wants the scaffolding to be up for four weeks (unlikely), he wants to be able to access his garage at all times (not unreasonable), they want to be able to park on their drive at all times (unlikely), he will “reserve the right to ask for the scaffold to be removed at any time without undue delay” (ask as much as you like, it wont happen), he wants a copy of Max’s insurance and he will be taking photographs throughout the process (fill your boots. I’ll be happy to pose; evening wear, swimwear, topless). We’re living in a house that is one good sneeze away from total collapse and these are his worries. He clearly thinks we’ll turn the place into Guantanamo Bay and they’ll be prisoners in their home, surrounding by scaffolding and builders backsides peering through their windows and I don’t want to be the cause of their anxieties but I’ve run out of reasonableness. It is no longer my default state. Marianna wasn’t happy with the list of demands and thought we should go next door for more negotiations. I think not and while it’s tempting to shove his gutter so far up his arse he wears it as a nose ring I think we’ll do nothing at all. The thing is that it’s signed and that gives us carte blanche (this is not a Sara Lee dessert).