Tuesday, 29 July 2014
Oestrogen Also Rules.
A true story for G.
Peace is restored to the garden.
At the weekend Cat (small Granddaughter's Significant Other) enjoyed a lot of TLC in the swing. He needed it because few days earlier he had been the subject of a particularly bold kidnap attempt in the park. He had been snatched from Little E's hands by a puppy, tossed around, chewed and hurled round the park with quite a number of people trying to rescue him.
Very fortunately, he was rescued and restored, damp and shaken, to his rightful owner, who was equally damp and shaken. They both came here for some rest and relaxation in the shade.
'Thank goodness', I thought. 'Thank goodness the builders and fencers will not be doing their usual things next door, and the air will be clean and pure and relatively noise free.'
It stayed that way over the weekend.
Then they came back.
They had decided I was a lady, so I decided to act like not only a lady, but also an Earth Mother.
It was a very hot morning. I told them I was concerned for them, struggling out there in the heat, struggling with concrete posts and heavy fencing panels. Averting my eyes from the tattoos and considerable amounts of glistening flesh I asked if they would like a hot or cold drink. They opted for hot so I took it out in pretty china mugs and gave them a little talk about dehydration.
They didn't know what to call me, but later decided on 'Madam'........'The cups are empty, Madam.'
'As I've done that for you, perhaps you'd be kind enough to move your lorry so that I can get my car back into the driveway?' I said. There was a general scramble for the keys and the lorry shot forward. They offered to wave me into the drive, but I assured them I could manage.
I offered another drink a couple of hours later and delivered another brief lecture on the perils of dehydration while working in the noon sun.
Shortly afterwards there was a crash and a volley of expletives as a concrete fence post hit something it shouldn't have done.
'That's at least two quid in the swear box, Damien,' said his partner. 'You know what we said while the lady's here.'
'The lady is here,' I said. 'Have you really got a swear box?'
'Yes,' they said. 'It was bad last week'.
I agreed that it had been bad last week and asked them where they were donating the money in the swear box. They looked a bit blank. I don't think they had planned that far ahead, so I was able to ask them to donate it here, because as soon as I'm better I will be returning to work here.
They returned to work, with another drink in fine china planned for another couple of hours.
There was a steady hum of industry, but nothing else. Even the radio fell silent. Cat and Little E. could have consoled each other in the swing, three year-old neighbour could have visited with impunity. The air stayed fresh and clean and pure except for the odd minute or two of concrete-cutting.
Perhaps the china mug is more powerful than the pneumatic drill?