Jon Venables

Am I now living in the village near Frankenstein’s castle, watching the torch bearing villagers gathering at the gates? Is public opinion and government policy a feather in the wind blown by the red top tabloids and the extremist Daily Mail? I haven’t read about the James Bulger/Jon Venables case this week so I don’t have any great knowledge. If I’d read every single newspaper article I’d have no greater ‘knowledge’ anyway. This isn’t about murder or how evil someone is it’s about the way in which news is constructed. Several years ago I worked with a prisoner who committed a double murder on the day of a major national news event. The papers that day and week were full of this major event and so my client’s murder of an adult and child only made his local paper. Had he committed this murder on any other day he’d have made the front page that day and the next day and the next. Is he less evil than Jon Venables or just less newsworthy? If James Bulger had disappeared on 31st August 1997 or 11th September 2001 we may never have heard of him, Jon Venables or Robert Thompson. It’s sad but a fact that other children have been killed, other children have committed murder and other offenders have been recalled for breaching the conditions of their licence. Lots of them. I get to meet them all the time. We should clearly give up on the nonsense of rehabilitation and just think of people as Good or Bad, Evil or Fit to wander the streets. Then we’ll bring back hanging. We’ll start with murderers and those who commit GBH because clearly they have the potential, paedophiles obviously and it would be unfair not to include other sex offenders. Who next? It worries me how, without a hint of irony, this evil and violent man brings out such violence in others. How awful must your life have been that you kill someone when you’re so young?

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XLNT

Today Max’s estimating team were going to visit. He arrived in a 2009 Mercedes that was the size of Sussex and was then joined by his estimator who seemed more elderly and confused than Max had seemed when we first met. We were then joined by the plumber and electrician. “Hello, I’m the plumber, Peter”. This was a very carefully constructed sentence so that he didn’t present himself as Peter the Plumber and sound like one of Postman Pat’s friends. Next came the electrician. “I’m the electrician” he said. “Patrick” I said shaking his hand. “I’m the electrician” he said. I felt all of the muscles in my face twinge as I was tempted to ask if his name was a secret for some reason but just ushered him in. Perhaps it’s an assigned Red Indian name like Dances with Wolves. After a brief discussion by the four real men and me describing to Peter and ‘Electrician’ how inadequate the plumbing, heating, electrics and lighting were they took themselves off for a tour of the house. As I spoke to Max I could hear them laughing at our red nose wearing, baggy trouser dropping festival of a house. Bloody cheek. I joined them in the hallway to receive their comments about the house. Peter had a grey moptop hairstyle circa Beatles 1965 and was extremely likeable. He didn’t think that much of our plumbing was salvageable and was confused that we have a type of radiator normally found in old peoples homes which give out limited heat so that the old dears don’t burn their hands. ‘Electrician’ was very quiet apart from pointing out to Peter that most of our lights are on the floor and asking me if I’d like them a little higher when replaced.

This evening we had a visit from Andy Graham whose company is called XLNT. I do have some concerns about a man who’d name his company like a boyband or with the spelling of a twelve year old sending a text. He looked like a third rate rock star whose good looks couldn’t keep pace with his substance abuse but had the presence and confidence of Jose Mourinho. The special one had arrived. His first words, after introductions, were “This is Basil Bailey’s house”. He’d known Basil’s nephew as a child, had visited the house then and also done some work for Basil in his twenties. "This house was the cutting edge back in the day" he said. "Well, this is cutting edge plus forty years" I said. He described Basil as an eccentric, which would be fair and told us that Basil’s furniture business went bust about twenty yeas ago. He didn’t have a business card but gave us a Cd-Rom. I could try this with a disc containing a montage of Crimewatch reconstructions from cases I've worked on. Well, he didn’t actually say it was a cd-rom. He said “I don’t have business cards. You can have this” and handed the disk over. Since I’m at the shallow end of the social competency learning curve I said “Ooh, I love a compilation CD. Any Phil Collins?”. He looked at the plans, was impressed by them and asked some brief questions and made an appointment to return with his surveyor next week. Marianna doing all the talking didn’t deter him from maintaining steely, man-bonding eye contact with me over the top of his spectacles. I’m just dipping my elbow into the tepid bathwaters of manliness so did my best to match this. He had recently returned from Florida and was going skiing in Italy this weekend. It’s always nice to know the lifestyle I may be supporting.

www.xlnt2.com

Max

Max, today’s candidate, arrived in a van with the company name on its side and initially reminded me of a slightly bemused grandparent. However, in a fairly quiet and assured manner he really knew what he was talking about. He reviewed the plans and while he did so I noticed that he had almost no fingernails. I didn’t know if this had occurred through chewing, being accident prone or some medical condition but once I’d spotted this I was transfixed and could barely make eye contact with him. Because I’m remarkably mature I managed not to shout “Wow, look, you’ve got no fingernails”. Just like Neat and Precise Terry he also wanted his plumber, electrician and others to visit to assist him in calculating the costs. Max forced his way into first place by uttering the phrase “That’s no problem, we’ll use a boxed gutter” when we mentioned the infamous Martin/gutter/overhang issue. He wasn’t bothered about looking around the house but did so briefly.

Mr Grey

Our next candidate was Mr Terry Grey of T & J Grey Construction. Could his partner be called Jerry? He arrived in a convertible Audi. He was dressed, possibly because it’s Sunday and he was on his way to church or because it’s Valentine’s Day, in his Sunday best. Best for him that is but not best for anyone with any taste. He was wearing the type of leather jacket, slacks and shoes that you only get in Westgate. I instinctively knew there was a gold chain beneath that pullover. He was quite quiet, as if he’d actually come to sell me insurance and didn’t like to correct me when I assumed he was a builder. Unlike John it took a team of men to generate a quote and he said his plumber, electrician and scaffolder would all need to visit to form an opinion. It hadn't previously occurred to me that much of the scaffolding for building our extension will surround Martin’s house. No doubt it hasn’t occurred to him either. Terry being so silent didn’t inspire me and when he said he could see no solution to the issue of Martin’s guttering apart from our garage being smaller he was talking himself out of the job. He was only with us for half an hour. Another candidate tomorrow.

Johnny English

Today we began interviewing builders. Obviously we’ve met with builders before. There was Bhupinder back in the summer and P.P. Stephens and that other bloke in November. However, this is the stage at which we should be meeting builders. We were subverting the form before. John England was due at 9am so we attempted to clean and tidy the house in preparation. It seemed quite pointless. It’s like Febreezing a land fill. There’s only so much Feng Shui you can achieve by rearranging carpets, mirrors and dust. John was extremely amiable, jocular and blokeish and had about 90% of a building site stuck to his clothes and hands. He asked many questions about what type of boiler, heating system, window frames etc etc etc we wanted. I recall that we didn’t know the answers when Bhupinder asked. We really have no excuses but still don’t know the answers and obviously it makes a difference when providing a quote. He was good enough to outline the costs and benefits of different types of window, heating system, boiler etc etc. It also seems that we need to decide if we want a classic or ultra-modern style to our décor. Do I care? Possibly not. Do I look like Leamington’s own Frank Lloyd Wright? I noticed that he soon moved the focus of his eye contact from me to Marianna since she had all the answers. I made noises occasionally so they knew I hadn’t slipped into a coma. He said we could choose from three types of boiler. He explained about type number one and then type number two and how it differed from type number one. He looked at me and, much like a school teacher, said “Are you following?”. I nodded like a Labrador rather than say “I am a fairly intelligent person. I think I’ll manage”. Why do I need to understand this anyway? I can figure out why robbers rob, why rapists rape and why murderers murd so why do I need to have this knowledge too? Why couldn’t he just look at the house and tell me what we needed? I liked that he had many ideas and solutions to the problems our house presents. After he’d made notes and looked at the plans we gave him a tour of the house. He was shocked that we’re living in it in the state that its in but did take it all in his stride and casually moved a shoe that keeps the curtain in place in the rear bedroom without comment to check on the window frames. He was with us for over an hour and a half and left us with the address of a house he's nearly finished work on that we can visit. I felt he was a strong candidate. However, if we gave him the job he wouldn’t be able to begin work until July or August which seems a long way off. The next candidate is due tomorrow.

Miniature Martin

This evening we had a visit from Martin. I don’t know if he was heading elsewhere but he was wearing a large coat and scarf. I warned him yesterday that, without central heating, this is the house of permanently pert flesh so he must have prepared in advance. It was a friendly visit rather than one for complaint. He pointed out that Malcolm had wrongly assumed where our drains were and asked if he could speak to or meet with Malcolm to discuss the issue of their gutter. Not a problem. We’d been sitting down and when we stood as he was about to leave I noticed that he must be six or seven inches shorter than me. I felt that there was no need to fear his complaints anymore and I was now in a position of power over him, certainly if anyone needs something retrieving from a high shelf.

A hot flush

It’s not news to those who know me to say that I can be a bit avoidant. Tell me on the 1st of January that I need to do something by 1st of June and I’ll most likely do it on May 31st. In fact I once submitted something online at two minutes to midnight on deadline day. It’s sometimes that I genuinely am busy, sometimes I’m completely indifferent to the issue and at other times I’m just being avoidant and putting things off until they just can’t be avoided any more. That’s just paperwork. If it’s something interpersonal I’m much much worse. I tend not to speak up and say what’s on my mind. If someone says ‘Hey, lets get together some time’ I tend to think that I’d rather not and if we do get together it’s because I avoided or failed to say no. For me emails and text messaging are the perfect way of staying in touch. In my work I’m the complete opposite. With clients in front of me I never avoid issues and always tackle those tricky subjects because that’s where the real heart of issues tends to be. It must be the suit and tie and role I’m in that makes it so easy. It’s a character flaw but its not necrophilia or writing for The Daily Mail so I sleep at night just fine thank you. So……….that’s why thirteen days passed between Malcolm’s visit and me going next door to see Martin.
I knocked on his door last night armed with a set of plans, a letter for him and a letter which he would have to sign and return to us. I wasn’t at all anxious. I think I said “Hello Martin, fumfeddy, banammy, foibidy Party Wall Act”. He looked a bit confused and ushered me in and I joined him and Anne at their kitchen table. I gave him the paperwork and asked for a copy of the written agreement he had with Basil which gave him permission to build over our roof. While he searched it out Julie asked how the plans with the house were progressing. She then asked if they could do some work on the side of their garage when ours was knocked down. Of course. Not a problem. The agreement between Basil and Martin was very informal and not drawn up by a solicitor as I’d imagined. I’m not sure how much difference it makes but he can’t produce this agreement like a trump card when we’re discussing how to move his guttering. I was wearing a normal amount of clothing for our heatless house (t-shirt, long sleeved t-shirt and sweatshirt) but found that I was unusually warm in their heated house and was well aware that I began to glow and sweat and could feel the sweat slowly soak through my first two layers. I felt that they were checking me out a bit, asking if we planned to stay in the house when all of the work was completed but we chatted in a very laid back, jovial manner for an hour about all sorts of things and the elephant in the room (that they made a formal objection to our plans) was never mentioned. I felt very aware of the elephant though and stumbled over my words quite a bit, wanting to start all sentences, regardless of the subject under discussion, with the words “Well, even though you formally objected to our plans……”.
“Well, even though you formally objected to our plans ‘New Moon on Monday’ was a weak single for Duran Duran”.
“Well, because you formally objected to our plans John Terry may draw the line at shagging your wife”.
We parted with smiles, high fives and hugs and even some gangster rapper style handshakes and with an expectation of another objection from them in my mind.
I then paid a much briefer to Becky at 131. She took the papers from me, said she’d take a look and visit in a few days to discuss them with us.