Of Mice and Men

I visited the for the first time in well over a week today. I really have underestimated how much work this is for Marianna. I mean no great disrespect to our building team but most of them are remarkably disorganised and persistently lacking in common sense. The plasterers are the exception and are a brilliant team of three and seem very efficient. They keep Marianna informed of what they’re doing and how they intend to go about it and make sure they understand her wishes before going ahead. Their work has certainly transformed the house and it looks increasingly finished. We had a lengthy discussion with Max who wants the radiators fitted so that the heating can be switched on which will help the plaster dry. Then he wants to work from the top floor down adding skirting, architraves and doors. He’s eager to get it all finished.


Then we had a major row with John the plumbing partner of Pete the Plumber. There’s more than a slight hint of a George and Lennie element to their partnership and it’s much easier to deal with Pete. They’re not so much ‘& Son’ as ‘& Dad’. John had noticed that the shower we bought for the top floor will deposit the water slightly outside of the tray and yet had begun fitting it. We questioned why on earth he would begin to do so rather than call us. It wasn’t his job he told us. We bought it and he was there to fit it. We discussed swapping the second floor shower fittings with the first floor shower but unfortunately the pipes for these were different and were hidden by plaster and tiles. Taking the shower back to the suppliers may seem an obvious solution but Dave had opened the box and spread it out flat like a beach towel to kneel on. Somehow he had also managed to scratch part of the shower. Marianna also noticed marks on a sink and a toilet he had fitted. John doesn’t do discussion or negotiation or acceptance of responsibility but seems to do stropping and then walking out. The damage on the basin and toilet wasn’t his responsibility. They were ours. They weren’t marked when they were delivered we said. But that still wasn’t his responsibility; “I’m not like you, I don’t go over things with a fine toothed comb when I buy them”. Mmm, and that’s why it isn’t ‘& Son’ mate. So I rang Pete who is a sweet and lovely man. He said that if toilets and basins were damaged they’d be replaced. If the shower was damaged he’d try to use it with another customer for us. And if we wanted to remove the tiles and plaster and swap the two showers we could. But obviously we won’t, we’ll buy a shower that fits the tray.

There has also been some drama with the bi-fold doors which were fitted two weeks ago. The fitters were due to arrive at eight. They didn’t arrive and didn’t make contact until 10.40 when they said they wouldn’t be able to make it that day but would come the next. Marianna met with them in the morning, gave them her number and asked that they would call when they thought they were half an hour from finishing so she could go to the house from work for an inspection and instruction on how they opened, closed and locked. When she returned at 4.20 they had gone. We now have a bent set of keys, damaged by one of the builders because, it turns out, once you’ve unlocked the door you have to remove the keys before trying to open the doors. We’ve also noticed thirty two different marks, scratches and blemishes on them. Perhaps that’s why they didn’t hang around at the end of their day. We’ve only paid 50% of the cost at present. That may be all we end up paying.

On a similar subject of daftness after the Velux windows were fitted the roofers passed tiles and equipment through them when they were still working on the roof. So the white frames of the windows have some nice marks and scratches.

These are the frustrations that Marianna is experiencing on a daily basis and she’s really tiring of how dismissive a lot of Max’s team can be. She tells them how she would like something done, they laugh and say it’s not possible and she has to produce the magazine or brochure where she saw that design or idea. It’s true that she thinks almost every word used in this country is derived from the Greek language and that the ancient Greeks invented everything worthwhile except for Wii and those cushioned trays that help you eat and watch tv but she’d hadn’t previously believed herself to be a huge intellect. And yet our builders are forcing this belief upon her. She walks around the house with the electrician/plumber/carpenter telling them what she wants and where she wants it and returns the next day to find that the wrong type has been fitted or it’s in the wrong place. They always acknowledge the error but make her seem unreasonably fussy when she wants it altered. It’s also unreasonable that she refuses to pay for the alteration. Recently, despite there being pipes coming from the wall, the shape of a radiator drawn on the wall and the word ‘Radiator’ written in the shape the electrician still tried to fit a wall socket there. It just defies belief. It’s like those people who press the button at the pedestrian crossing even though there are already a dozen people standing and waiting for the flashing green man to tell them to cross; “Thank God you came along mate. We’ve all been standing here for hours. It didn’t occur to us to press the button”. What can I say? Some people get to sit on the intellectual carnival float and others, flag in hand, watch it go by.

Goin' Back

Treasure every moment you hear music. I bought three CD’s today; ‘Let There Be Rock’ and ‘Highway to Hell’ by AC/DC and ‘The Best of The Carpenters’. All from the bargain bin in the supermarket. I felt that I deserved a treat after a largely wasted morning. A large percentage of the time that a court appearance is pencilled into my diary it is cancelled before that date arrives or is cancelled when I’m half way there. Often I’ll go to the court, sit and read a novel in the waiting area and then be sent home because I’m surplus to requirements. Occasionally, I get to shine and actually give evidence. Today was a sitting with a novel in the waiting area day. After a two and half hour drive to Lincoln I sat in the waiting area with the lumpen and my John Irving novel and was then called for a five minute consultation with the barristers and solicitors. And then I was sent on my way. I stopped on the outskirts of Lincoln for diesel and it was whilst paying that the CD’s called to me, wanting to be rescued. The cashier eyed my choices and me carefully. She was clearly thinking that an error had occurred and someone who loved the guitar riffs of Angus Young couldn’t possibly love the voice of Karen Carpenter. In the same way that Attitude and FHM magazines don’t appear in the same shopping basket or custard and roast lamb don’t go together. I played my new CD’s on the drive home and sang along joyously to all of them.

I love music. You may know this about me. I own a lot of CD’s but, because of my age, I own an awful lot of records. Those who have been unfortunate enough to live me know I have an anecdote for each one, perhaps about the band or where I bought the particular LP or the weather on the day I bought it. For your own safety, don’t get trapped in a room with me when I’m playing records. If I know you particularly well I may tell you how I went into Andy’s records in Kings Lynn in 1985 and asked for the twelve inch version of ‘Bring it Down’ by The Foreskins when it was actually a recording by The Redskins I was hoping to purchase that day. I was thirty nine when I got over the humiliation. My record and CD collection is varied. There’s a lot of Beatles and ex-Beatles, pop, metal, Bach, Rockabilly, Nat King Cole, Country, AC/DC, Musicals and even 50Cent. It is possible to appreciate the beauty in all of these. I like to discover new artists and re-discover old ones; perhaps those whose music I didn’t buy at the time but heard coming through the wall from my brothers’ bedroom in my childhood. I didn’t buy a CD player until 1993 and throughout the 90’s still bought vinyl records as much as I bought CD’s. I was often buying those my brothers had bought a decade or so previously but were no longer available to me since we were no longer in the same house. I liked to go into what I called ‘the sad record shop’ in Kings Lynn and flick through the records. And occasionally buy one or two.

I don’t believe in ‘Guilty Pleasures’, the idea that we should be embarrassed by some of our likes and preferences, that there might be some items in our CD/record collection which we would wish to hide and others we may wish to boast about. It’s a nonsense to rave about the Black Eyed Peas CD you bought last week to a visiting friend, hoping they don’t notice you have the entire Steps back catalogue. It might impress you to know that the first single I bought was ‘Oliver’s Army’ by Elvis Costello. You may be less impressed to know that my second purchase was ‘Honey I’m Lost’ by The Dooley’s (the Steps of their day). There is nothing within the nature of either that makes one better than the other. It’s all a matter of personal taste. I worry about the future of such variety given the cynicism of The X-Factor. Some do believe in that elitism. A few years ago I sold a few LP’s and singles that I rarely played. The man who bought them from me was happy to mock me for ever buying ‘Reg Strikes Back’ by Elton John but was overjoyed at the opportunity to buy my copy of ‘Have Twangy Guitar Will Travel’ by Duane Eddy. However, I’d only played the Duane Eddy once whereas, although I was happy to part with it then, Elton John had been played many times when first purchased.
Music can take you somewhere. It may be in the emotions the voice evokes, it might be the words, the arrangements, the chord choices and progressions or it might be what you know of the story behind the lyrics, who the songwriter had in mind when writing. It might remind you of something and open a door to the past. In my early twenties, when I had my own little house, I was in the habit of drifting off to sleep listening to Radio 1 (I got off that bus a long while ago). As I was drifting somewhere between consciousness and sleep one night a song was played on the radio that suddenly took me to the front room of the home my family lived in until I was 5 and ¾‘s. I would have struggled to describe that room if you’d asked me to but the chords and lyrics of this song took me there. As the song played I could see the room and I could feel the simplicity of life when I was that young. I knew the song must have been by one of the artists whose records my mum loved to play; Crystal Gayle, Johnny Mathis, The Carpenters etc. The next day I called my brother and sang/mumbled the song to him and he identified it as ‘Wichita Lineman’ by Glen Campbell. Of course, I bought a Glen Campbell LP as soon as I could. It felt like a connection to the past. It’s for that same reason that I bought The Carpenters today. Great music and a door into the past.

When I was young the radio played just for me. It saved me.

Ooh, new shoes Jeremy?

I don’t know why getting a haircut isn’t a more simple process. Take, for instance, ordering a sandwich at Subway. If you order a veggie patty on Honey Oat and then indicate that you want some lettuce, tomato, cucumber and a squirt of Mayo. You will almost definitely get a veggie patty on Honey Oat with lettuce, tomato, cucumber and Mayo. Also, if you are at the train station and buy a ticket to Barnsley you will almost definitely have a small piece of card that gives you the opportunity to travel as far as Barnsley provided you’re bright enough to get on the right train. However, for many years I have sat in the hairdresser’s/barber’s chair described exactly the same haircut/style and left each time with a completely different style (none of which have ever pleased me). So, when I sat in the chair on Saturday morning and the architect of disappointment asked “What are we doing with you today?” I wanted to say “Humiliating and disappointing me?” since that’s the way it normally works out. Alternatively, I could have said, “Just like this, only with five weeks less hair, since that’s when you last did it”. One thing was for sure, I didn’t want it like his. Red and spiky this time, blonde and floppy last time. Last time he didn’t cut it as I wanted but there I was again. My thinking of late is that I’ll make appointments and go to the same place regularly to avoid the occasional hair disaster that comes from going in anyoldplace in anyoldtown when I’m working and find myself with some time to kill. The main problem I have is that whatever is done to my hair I’ll say “That’s great, thanks”, probably leave a tip and certainly make another appointment. All this may make me sound like I’m overly fussy. I’m not. I’m largely indifferent to how my hair looks. Perhaps it’s just frustrations associated with the “I’d like this” – “I’ll be giving you something completely different” interaction and that I feel something better should come out of staring at myself in the mirror for twenty minutes whilst making chitchat with the young man disappointing me. This was our third meeting and I know all I could want to about him. I’ve assessed and formulated him and even offered some therapy.

This excitement came at the end of a week working away from home which had been intense and draining. It’s a way of maximising profits and my time. Rather than drive one hundred miles up the motorway and doing it again, largely in a similar direction, a few days later I’ll stay over in cheap hotels and squeeze in as many clients and assessments as I can. In the evenings I can begin to type up the person I’ve seen that day. By the end of the week they’ve all merged into one seriously messed up, dangerous person. Since this is work I end up in the type of hotel that only gives you the terrestrial tv channels rather than dozens of satellite ones and gives you a complimentary bar of soap the thickness of a postage stamp rather than some complimentary bottles of shower gel. I can’t pretend it was all work though since I got stood up twice. This can be very frustrating but is worse for the client since judges tend to frown on failure to attend for psychological assessment.

Since this left me with several hours to kill until the next appointment or the time when I could check into the hotel I went to the cinema. I’m sure I could have shopped, gone to a museum or sat in my car and read a book but once the solicitor and I had realised their client had committed a major error I was out searching for the town’s cinema. I had little choice but to watch the next film starting. On Thursday this policy yielded ‘The Town’ which I loved, although it was about criminals and psychopaths doing dreadful things to nice people so was just like work. Since I was wearing my suit and carrying a briefcase I felt obliged to explain to the girl who sold me my ticket that I’d been stood up by a client and was killing time in case she thought I was one of those wears-a-suit-to-the-cinema-in-the-daytime-perverts. The next day when I was stood up the next film showing after my arrival was ‘The Other Guys’. It was a dog of a film and howled from beginning to end. Again, I explained to the girl who sold the ticket what I was doing. She probably thought I was one of those weirdly-tells-me-his-life-story-like-I-give-a-shit-perverts. I returned to Vikki’s late Friday evening.

On Saturday morning Marianna and I went to in-toto to finalise the kitchen design and requirements. Somehow Marianna had negotiated the supermodel kitchen at an Airfix model price she’s wanted for the last few months. Then there was a visit to the house so I could review the week’s work. Of course there was post there. We haven’t had a door or letter box for months and there’s been a redirection to a PO Box in place and yet at least once a week the postman will hand post to a builder or rest it next to a newly built wall. We ring and complain but they’re completely indifferent to this.

Then I went to the hairdresser’s; “What are we doing with you today?”