The autumnal gales have begun here, tearing the leaves from the trees in handfuls, and also the slates from my roof. There are disadvantages to living on the highest point in the village. Now I know my roof has probably been more or less in place for over 200 years, and will probably last me out. But eventually it starts to look a bit thin on top. Now clambering around on roofs, with my notorious lack of a head for heights, isn't ideal.
So, get a roofer. Not easy. First one didn't turn up at all. Second, finally arrived a day late. to enquire: "Have you got a ladder?" I had, so clearly disconcerted, he disappeared, with the promise to "come back tomorrow". He didn't, but arrived a day later, explaining, "I decided to go to Wrexham "[ a nearby largish town]. Obviously sensing my lack of delight in this, he added pacifyingly, "I had a nice time." He then wisely discovered that he had forgotten his mallet. "I'll be back tomorrow", he asured me. He wasn't.
All part of the slower pace of rural life. I wish my roof tiles were as slow in blowing off.
Booklist for 'Interesting Times'
5 months ago
2 comments:
If he's a roof expert, why didn't he have his own ladder?
Ah well, because, in common local fashion. he's a procrastinator extrordinaire. The idea is to build up a list of "jobs", then do them as and when the fancy takes him. And bringing his ladder would have meant he had no excuse not to do it there and then...
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