Here’s days five and six in the next instalment of my building work diary, telling the tale of when I had a loft conversion a few years ago.
If you missed the story so far, here are the earlier days:
Day Five
I have to admit that both lads were working really hard and already things were starting to take shape. As long as I made endless cups of coffee, they cracked on with the job.
I was about to send out for more coffee, having scraped out the last dregs in the jar, when Clive popped his head round the door.
“Can I have tea next time?” he asked. “I don’t like coffee. I’m more a tea man myself.”
I opened my mouth to ask him why, when I’d first given him the option of tea or coffee, he’d gone for the drink he didn’t like, when he asked me my name.
“I can’t keep shouting out ‘allo every time I need yer,” he laughed.
“It’s Esther,” I said.
The laughter stopped abruptly and a puzzled expression took over his face. I was sure I hadn’t said my name was Esmerelda Tallullah Persephone St John Smythe, or some such, but perhaps I had as I became ‘allo once more.
Day Six
Even though the lads were beavering away, and there was plenty of banging, bashing and building taking place, Clive was proving to be a chatterbox. Don’t get me wrong; he was very pleasant and I came to enjoy our conversations. He told me about his girlfriend, the love of his life, who worked in a bank.
“What does she do there?” I asked.
“Dunno. She just sits behind a desk in a tiny room at the back,” he said.
I’m sure she would be delighted to know her job description.
He then told me about his current dilemma. “I dunno what to do. I’ve got an optician’s appointment tonight, but me mate’s asked me to go down the pub. I want to go down the pub, but I really need to get my eyes looked at. I don’t know what to do.”
The dilemma was put on hold when a crane turned up, causing much arm flapping on Clive’s part. “Soddin’ Nora. It’s the wrong crane.”
Said crane was sent away.
***
Esther Chilton 
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