Our house is full of books.
More accurately, the place is not literally replete with literature but the collection is noticeable for its size.
Another outstanding feature of the property is the vast quantity of Womens Clothes which it contains. But that’s another story.
Anyway, books are best positioned on bookshelves and Womens Clothes are ideally suited to the closed environment of a wardrobe. Lacking both of these items until recently, we contacted various Carpenters and asked them to quote for:
- A large bookshelf configuration for the living room.
- A similar arrangement for the hall.
- A large wardrobe for one of the bedrooms.
- Two wall-mounted speaker stands for the living room.
In February of this year, we decided to employ the services of a Local Carpenter to carry out the above projects. This despite the fact that Local Carpenter’s quote was not the cheapest, and that he could not begin the work until May.
He duly arrived in the last week in May, and did an excellent job with the bookshelves. The wardrobe still required completion work (handles) and the speaker stands were left in abeyance, but Local Carpenter promised to return and finish the job early in June.
We paid him the full amount. We knew where he lived and we decided to trust him, especially as we had built up an amicable relationship with him whilst he was here.
With the passing of the month of June, I called Local Carpenter on the telephone and spoke to his wife. She told me Patrick is sick. He has heart problems. He will be around to finish the job as soon as he possibly can.
Well, I am not going to add to the problems of a Local Carpenter, or anyone else for that matter, who has a heart problem.
I allow three months to elapse before calling Patrick again, in early October, only to get his answering service with his voice. I leave my number, but nobody returns the call.
Above all, I am hoping that Patrick is safe and well, but I wish to inform him of a problem with the wardrobe doors (they have warped and refuse to close) in addition to the outstanding work elsewhere. I only wish to mention this piece of trivia if I can be assured of his wellbeing.
I try again two weeks ago and get a different answering service. I leave my number, but nobody returns the call.
Third time being lucky, I call again today and the responder tells me that Patrick doesn’t live there any more.
He has moved to Torquay, a pleasant enough holiday resort on the Devon coast, but many miles from our locality.
We have never been to Torquay but we plan to visit sometime in the future, maybe for a weekend, in order to take in the fresh seaside air and stroll along the promenade.
Our stroll will be in the direction of Patrick’s new place of residence when we find out where it is, and we will.
We will knock gently upon his door and, should he open it personally, we will enquire about his health. If he admits to a heart problem we will wish him a speedy recovery in his new recuperation-friendly environment and leave him in peace.
If, however, he is busy doing Carpentry on his own, or anybody else’s property, we are going to ask him what the fuck he is playing at.
Because we may have been foolish in trusting Patrick in paying him the full whack before he finished the job, and never again will we do this for anyone, but one so hates to be made a fool of.
Furthermore, if we employ people in the future to carry out work for us, we will not be satisfied with a quote. We will require a full fucking Medical History as well, including such details as current medication and whether Heart Problems feature prominently in the Artisan’s Family.
The contract, and there will be a contract every time, will contain a clause which specifically prohibits the Artisan from moving house until he has completed the work as agreed.
We will also be motivated to drive by the Artisan’s House every fucking day to ascertain whether or not there is a For Sale sign outside it.
The Artisan will be telephoned constantly should he fail to arrive on cue for any given appointment. We will naturally make appropriate enquiries concerning Health in such circumstances but, having been assured that all is well in this regard, we will make it plain that the Artisan had better get round to the job pretty quickly otherwise Lawyers may become involved in the proceedings.
Subterfuge will also be employed. We intend to examine the Artisan’s Tools very carefully for valuation purposes, and hide the most expensive one in a Cupboard. He can have it back when he has finished the work, as long as we are satisfied with the quality of same.
Finally, if the Artisan’s Wife informs us that the Artisan is hospitalised, we are going to ask Which Fucking Hospital is he in and can we take him some Fucking Grapes.
If there is a moral to this salutary tale it is, sadly, Don’t Trust An Artisan With Your Money. You know it makes sense.
Thank you for reading this.
