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?”

The Oath

I visited the house for the first time in eight days yesterday. Things are really moving forward. There is an extension that is joined to the rest of the house, there are new windows everywhere (although we did ask for frosting in the bathroom), velux windows are in, sun pipes fitted, the electrician is ripping out all of the old wiring and starting to rewire, the plasterer has done a Tyrolian finish on the outside of the house and so much more. Marianna visits at least once a day because she is the project manager, as well as all the other things she has to do, and meets with the electrician, decorator, plasterer and Max regularly. There have been a few recurring themes. One is Max having forgotten about various things we originally told him we wanted doing as part of the refurbishment. Marianna will go to the house and ask him about something like the plastering or altering the skirting and architraves and he responds as if it’s never been mentioned before. She gives me the impression that he’ll only approach her with a whip and a chair and thinks she’s troublesome but when I’ve met him I think it’s more that he thinks men in white coats should be chasing her with a butterfly net. I guess the average customer just accepts the light switch, radiator or whatever that is offered but Marianna has done her homework. She’s had a little falling out with Dave the plumber. Or Max has. Almost two months ago Dave insisted that we buy all of the showers, toilets, baths and sinks and then he had them all delivered. They’ve been in the rear bedroom all this time with window fitters and electricians having to work around them. As Marianna points out the money could have stayed in the bank all this time too. The other recurring theme is Martin and Anne completely blanking her.
I don’t visit so often. I’m more inclined to let them get on with it, if I visited Max would talk me into agreeing to anything and also I feel that I look quite out of place on a building site, regardless of what I’m wearing. Imagine you’re at Glastonbury. I don’t look like someone ready to go wild at a festival, more like someone in a corduroy jacket who’s left a Volvo nearby with the hazards on and is there to collect someone. Also, I’ve been on a report writing marathon (five in the last seven days). I’ve pretty much been asleep at the wheel of my own life. Marianna pops her head over the laptop screen periodically and asks ‘wood or aluminium’, ‘red or white’ or shows me a catalogue where she’s a narrowed a choice of 300 down to two and I give an opinion. She has noticed that my entire brain capacity is focused on work so if she asked the same questions the next day she’d get different answers.
Apart from writing the reports occasionally I have to go to court or parole boards and convince people of how right I was when I wrote the report. It was far from a highlight but I had a trip to Milton Keynes last Tuesday to give evidence in Court. It’s never my favourite thing but it was okay this time. It’s all a game, an opportunity for barristers to use you as the vessel through which they present their case; “You would agree, Mr Bodger, would you not that my client……blah blaaah blaaaaaah”. On Tuesday my policy was just to keep requesting that the defence barrister actually ask me a question rather than just making statements and letting him know that when he did I’d happily answer it. His first questions were about my professional qualifications and experience which gave away the fact that he had nothing better to hit me with. The only problem was that after the examination and cross examination, second and third goes and a couple of questions from the judge I’d been standing in the witness box for almost two hours. I don’t know if it’s just me but increasingly two hours standing is like five minutes kneeling; when I have to move my legs again I feel as if I’m about 63 feet tall and using someone else’s legs. The challenge is just to get back out of the court room without wobbling, staggering or having to hold onto something.

Under Ether

It feels like there isn’t much to report and little has happened but that isn’t really the case. It’s just that since we aren’t living in the house I feel particularly detached from it all and more than slightly disinterested. Lots has happened; Pete has lifted the floorboards and removed all of the existing pipes for the central heating, removed the heatless radiators, removed the baths, sinks and all but one toilet and laid new pipes beneath the boards and got to a point where he was up to date and several weeks ahead of everyone else; the dormer roof on the second floor was removed, rebuilt and new windows installed; the porch that housed our lovely sliding door entrance was knocked down and a temporary chipboard door was erected just inside the hallway and then a new (bigger than it should have been) hole for the door was built; the scaffolding was erected and hovered above Martin’s roof and the left hand side of the extension was built; then the framework for the roof was built. There were times when Marianna visited that there might be as many as ten men working on different aspects of the re-build. She’s gone there much more often than me, having the luxury of the car and a more inquisitive nature. I was there last week when Max and Matthew discovered that a support beam couldn’t be positioned as Malcolm, the architect, had directed. As a psychologist I felt that I had no part to play in the discussion but Marianna joined in. I’m not sure how her boys view her but all indications are that it is with great affection. When we visited last Friday she went to talk to Tom, the bricklayer, and I stood back and looked at the house to do some sighing and frowning when Max appeared alongside me. “Hello, Patrick. How are you?” and then “Oh, you’ve not come alone” when he spotted her. I’m pretty sure it was a joke. I would guess most customers are less actively interested and involved and gregarious than her and don’t always visit with a list of queries. There have been many discussions centred around the slow realisation that we aren’t building what Malcolm designed, just something fairly similar to it. I recall him spending a several hours measuring the house but it seems that often he’s miscalculated and so the pitches of three roofs have changed and so has the ceiling height in the kitchen.

If I have previously reported that we were stressed in these notes then I was wrong. That wasn’t stress, this is. Who knows what I’ll type in a months time. We stagger around like a couple of boxers in the final round; arms down, no defence, just taking punches. Marianna has become overwhelmed with the pressure of sourcing kitchens, doors, baths and showers etc etc. If it were me I would just visit the local shop and choose one of the three whatevers that they had in stock but she wants to go beyond the local shops to other towns, cities and counties. And the internet. And Ebay. It seems that the choices this presents are overwhelming her. That and cost constraints push her ever onwards in search of Rolls Royce quality at Ford Escort prices and make her indecisive. She has other sources of stress too as well as studying for a Phd. I’m mostly worrying about the expense of the project and, since discoveries made along the way have expanded the budget, trying to earn at the same pace as we spend. Last Friday morning, just before we were going to visit the storage and then the house, I discovered that a firm of solicitors have gone bust owing me a very considerable sum of money. Working so many hours at something you dislike is bad enough but doing it for free is quite intolerable. We were having a little wallow in our collective misery on the way to Montague Storage. After collecting some things from the storage unit we got into the car and Marianna reversed out of the space which brought us behind another car. I noticed their reversing lights come on and while Marianna changed gear to move us forward I leaned over and sounded the horn. And again. And with more force. But still the car came back and hit us. I took a deep breath and undid my seatbelt. Marianna gave me a look that might have said “Stay calm” or “Don’t leave any visible bruising”. The driver of the other car got out saying “Sorry. My fault, my fault. I heard the horn but looked to the left and the right and couldn’t see where it was coming from”. I couldn’t not say “You were going backwards. Why the fuck didn’t you look behind you?”. He announced that he was an insurance engineer; someone who inspects the damage done to cars after accidents. That must explain why he was so casual about reversing into our car, exchanging details and buggering off. We could only laugh.

The builders have discovered a few more of Basil’s things; hair dye, postcard from Swanage, a box of ‘Bailey’s The Furniture People’ matches and a book issued in November 1944 to Basil and his fellow soldiers telling them about the German people and how to interact with them as they entered the country.

The Shit Manager

Max called on Thursday evening to say that he had happened upon Malcolm the architect and Malcolm would prepare a drawing of the guttering for Martin to be ready tomorrow. This was just as Marianna and I were ready to head out and rip Martin apart. We decided that we wouldn't go and see him until we had the drawing. This was disappointing since I was in the mood for killing someone. We went to the house anyway to see what progress had been made. Of course, Martin turned up with his ringbinder to show us some types of gutter he'd found on the internet. I think it's because I was so preoccupied with my foul mood that I don't recall all that was said but we made our temperament and disinterest very clear. We told him we didn't want his internet findings and weren't going to engage in a discussion. He clearly thought this was very unreasonable. It seemed that we repeated variations on 'No, we aren't entering into a discussion. You'll get a sketch from Max and that will be the end of it'. When he said 'What if I don't like the sketch?'. We told him that would still be an end to it. He mentioned that there was a British Standard to which these gutters should be made and we should have checked on what Max would supply. I have faith in our builders I told him. He said he didn't and needed to rebuild trust with them. Marianna pointed out that whether or not he trusted them was irrelevant because they were our builders. I said that I generally had faith in people and if he didn't, if he had trust issues, he should address them. It may sound bad but I enjoyed how clearly taken aback he was with how clearly pissed off with him I was. When I said I didn't care about his guttering he pulled a face like I'd just jumped on his pet kitten. And off he went. We didn't bother with goodbye.

The sketch by Malcolm didn't turn up on Friday. We visited the house largely so Marianna could hang out with all of her new friends; Mark, Tom, Pete etc etc. I've noticed that she's been buying them biscuits. I'm not too pleased about this. Firstly, it's at our expense. Also, if they're eating they aren't working and if they're eating biscuits they'll get fat and work slower.

Marianna discovered that the boyfriend of a friend of hers works for the same company as Martin. It turns out that he is a sewerage manager or a shit manager as Marianna now insists on calling him. In fact every time his name is mentioned she says "He's a shit manager".

Max called this morning to say that a copy of the guttering design was at our house and a copy had gone next door. Martin sent a text this evening which read "PLAN RECEIVED AND ACCEPTED. LETTER POSTED THROUGH DOOR". I was a little disappointed. There wouldn't be another verbal boxing match. It seemed like winning a competition when your competitor has dropped out through injury. Then came a second text minutes later which said "NOWHERE TO POST LETTER. WILL PUT THROUGH DOOR TOMORROW". He's not very observant. The letter box went with the door the day that work began.

Ever Decreasing Circles

Oh what a circus, Oh what a show. It’s been a far from great week. I got up at five on Monday to work on a report before heading to Doncaster to see a client. When I got back I carried on typing (one of the less racy Carry On films). On Tuesday, with the report still unfinished I was up at 4.30. I really can’t imagine how this happened but all of the previous days work was lost. Perhaps a computer genius or eight year old boy could have found where it was. But I am neither and neither were readily available to me so after a little cry I went back to typing. At about 8.30 I discovered that some papers I needed were in the storage unit so I had to drive over there and find them.

Then Martin called. (Please begin playing the Simon Bates ‘Our Tune’ music). My Mobile, like every other one on the planet, displays the name of the caller so when I answered I said ‘Hello Martin’. He gave his full name and address just in case I knew dozens of other people with that Christian and Surname combination. He said that the builders had completely cut off his exposed joists along the entire length of his garage and when he complained to Max he said he wouldn’t stop and that Martin could watch him do it if he liked.

When I got back to Vikki’s I told Marianna who called Max who only said “I’ll call you back”. Since I had a meeting to go to she raced over there.

I wasn’t there so I can only summarise what has been relayed to me but she spent 90 minutes in discussion with Max and Martin who were largely refusing to speak to each other. Max, awkwardly, had told Martin that morning they would be lifting his tiles. He didn’t mention the joists. When Martin complained “You can’t do that”. Max said he could, it was what was agreed; ”Watch me”. During the discussions no work was being done. Roofers, carpenters and bricklayers loitered. Martin threatened to withdraw permission and Max threatened to leave our house unfinished. Marianna pleaded with him to be polite and keep Martin informed and he refused. Martin confessed that he knew they would be working on the guttering and had chosen to work at home that day for that reason. He said that Anne was in tears and he doesn’t normally get angry but was very angry. I wish I had the energy left for such a range of emotions. He kept saying that if Anne were out there engaging in the discussion she would tell you to ‘F off’. Marianna wanted to say ‘Bring her out here then’. The man’s a fool. Marianna could out punch him, or anyone, verbally but she was being restrained and diplomatic.

To prove the depth of his arseholery Martin wondered what would happen if the people who bought the house from us in the future didn’t like the first floor of the extension and wanted to remove it. WHAT?? Have you ever heard of people buying a house and saying ‘Darling, we’ve got too much room. Let’s remove a floor of the house’. He also wondered how the owners of their home, after Martin and Anne had died (possibly at my hands) would feel about the shared gutter. These are the sort of fears and thoughts that normally come from our clients. They are not reality. I’m not being paid to treat him so I’m not interested.

Max hadn’t done as we had all agreed or as he had sketched because, he said, that when he got up and looked at the roof this wouldn’t be possible. Should two psychologists have spotted that Max would turnout to be like this? I thought we’d made it clear that only 40% of this job was building and the rest was keeping Martin and Anne happy. Martin thought this was all part of a conspiracy and it had been Max’s and our intention all along to cut the joists. Of course, they weren’t cut to the degree Martin had said. The carpenter had taken about ten percent off them. He thought we must have known what was happening and what would be happening each day. Marianna said she didn’t, we don’t, we’re not builders. I don’t need to know every step of the process. I didn’t have an extension and at some point in the future there will be an extension. I don’t need to know what happens in between.

He complained that the builders hadn’t ever knocked on his door to inform him what they were doing. Marianna said ‘So, they’ve never told you what they’re doing?’. ‘Yes, they have. I go out and ask them every day, it’s just that they’ve never come and told me’. ‘Well, you’re out there as soon as they arrive’.

I forget how it all played out next. Martin wrote a very stroppy letter, threatening court action, saying that Max had breached our agreement. Max wrote a reply saying that it was Martin who had breached the agreement. On the phone to Marianna on Wednesday Martin said ‘Thank god I was there to protect Anne and the children yesterday’. From what? A carpenter cutting some joists? You being a tosser? He should meet the people I meet. He should try living their awful, abused lives and he might see that having his guttering altered is not the end of the world. When he rang she asked how he was and he said "Okay, considering that neither of us slept last night". This morning we went to the house. Pete the plumber’s dad and workmate handed over a second letter Martin had delivered to him. He wanted an itinerary of what the builders will do on different days for the whole build and detailed designs of the proposed guttering. I rang Max. We agreed that Martin wasn’t getting an itinerary but that Max would make a drawing.

It was, I think, Martin’s second letter that sent me over the edge. I am currently livid. There’s no other way to describe my mood. At the end of the day I or we will visit Martin and I will leave him in no doubt as to my current opinion of him. If it seems that I’m being unreasonable all of this involves him because he took advantage of an old man and built over the boundary. It’s as if he hit me with his car and expects me to pay to have my blood cleaned off his bonnet. We’ve spent a year pandering to and appeasing him and it’s ridiculous. I will be making it quite clear that it ends now, his mental health issues are not my concern.