Well, his name is Dragan (that's not his real name. His real name is Thomas). Our french windows need some work, and he came round the other day to look at them.
Hi! I've come to fix the french windows.
Oh of course. Do come through won't you?
I happened to mention to him that our gutters seemed to be blocked, and before I could say "sandstorm" he was up in our first floor lounge, opening the sash windows
Now one thing you need to know about Dragan is that he is extremely tall, but does not realise it. For example, he once fitted window locks. "All done. I've put them at shoulder height for easy reach."
Yes.
HIS shoulder height. We have to stand on a chair to get to them.
He is also pretty chunky. Not fat, but hefty.
And fearless.
So before I could say health and safety, he was through the window and balancing on the six inch window ledge, all 100+ kilos of him, fifteen feet above the concrete, and reaching on tiptoe up to the gutter to have a feel around
I'm sure I can reach the gutters from here...
"Hmmmm I need stick - get me stick"
I search wildly around for a stick. I come up with this
which is a longhandled shoehorn. I pass it to Dragan through the window. All I can see is one foot dangling off the ledge and another on tiptoe about an inch away from the edge. The feet start moving about: he's clearly jiggling the shoehorn around trying to clear the blockage. Great clods of moss & earth start flying about.
"I need thinner stick!"
"Don't worry - I'll get a proper ladder and we can do it another day!" I shout, terrified of having to scrape a huge Lithuanian off the concrete.
"STICK!!"
Christallbloodymighty. I look round wildly for a stick. I see some ornamental twigs in a huge glass vase in the corner of the lounge.
It came as a complete surprise to me that is was there. I can only assume the missus had put it there sometime over the past thirty years. It is the sort of decoration that is never noticed by men, along with cushions, curtains and pianos.
DOREEN!! What the hell have you done with my darts board??
I pounce on the vase and tear out huge handfuls of twigs that have not only been delicately and painstakingly sprayed silver, but I also realise to my horror, are entwined around strings of tiny fairy lights, and the whole contraption is actually a fecking LIGHT FEATURE.
How the hell have I not noticed this?? I take a quick look round the room in case I've missed something else lurking behind the nest of tables,
Surprise!!!
and then pass Dragan a bunch of silver twigs, hastily stripped of the fairy lights, which are now scattered across the room; the only remnants of a no doubt much loved and cherished light feature put in place by the missus, possibly decades ago, and thoughtlessly destroyed by me in an ill-conceived attempt to avoid being arrested by plod, having been spotted dragging a dead Lithuanian towards a skip.
After much riddling of sticks down the gutter drainpipe, Dragan shouts to me, "quick: WATER!!!"
ER...er...Again I look around wildly. I see the denuded vase on the floor. I grab it, along with the electrtical chord trailing out the back, and fill it up with water from the bathroom. After three refills, Dragan announces "good: all clear!!", shakes my hand, and promptly leaves.
I look round the room. There is a soaked electrical appliance in a pool of water, fairy lights scattered about, some still on wires, and some crushed underfoot, and silver twigs in various states of decay sitting on the sofa, which is smeared with moss.
I spend the next half hour gathering this mess up, and put it in the boot of the car, ready for a trip to the dump.
She'll never notice.
Will she?
You bastard! Really? A fucking barometer? Thought I wouldn't notice eh?
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