Which old witch?
The one that does substandard plumbing and spouts endless plumes of bullshit.
And he’s not dead. But he has been asked never to darken our door again. Now that he’s brought everything that’s outstanding for our job. Including those taps, those illusive taps, which he’d told me earlier in the week he’d given to the sub-contracted plumber to enable him to complete the job. You know, the taps he drove all the way to Withernsea to collect.
The taps that, this morning, he text me about because he “had a lot of taps on the van” and wanted to check which ones were ours.
Almost as if, a cynical person might say, they were yet to be purchased.
But no, after fourteen weeks of bullshit and delays, we’ve finally got rid of him. He’s gone.
The bathroom’s still not finished but, strangely, that’s doesn’t seem to be phasing us anymore. It turns out that a lot of our anxiety and frustration and the reason we’ve been snapping at each other is down to the plumber lying to us and down to us being cross with ourselves for being suckered in by his tales of derring-do. It’s surprising that it has little to do with the fact that we’ve not had a bathroom door for several weeks and have to shout downstairs to alert the other one if we’re having a poo. It’s not that. It’s never been that.
But now he’s gone.
Never to return.
Apart from on Monday, for some reason (despite him telling me earlier in the week he was away from tomorrow), when he will be coming with the electrician. The electrician who wasn’t needed because the sub-contractor was going to do all the electrical work. The sub-contractor, incidentally, who doesn’t deal with anything electric.
You see how this works.
The only thing is, though, he won’t give us our house keys back.
While we still hold stuff of his – which I assume is the sink, pedestal and shower that we didn’t order but he tried to fob us off with – he is refusing to give our house keys back. Even though he promises he will not come into the house without anyone being here. So he wouldn’t actually need the keys because someone would be here to, you know, open the door and that. But still, he won’t give us the keys back.
Anyone care to have a stab in the dark at what our first job tomorrow is?
Aside from the fact that he’s not yet asked us for the stuff back and, if he did, he could take it because, frankly, we need the space and who wants mismatching bathroom stuff cluttering up your house in the first place, it’s bloody insulting that because – for some reason – we don’t appear to trust him, he doesn’t trust us.
But then, I suppose, we are quite untrustworthy.
Because, earlier today he asked me to give him a ring.
I explained that because I was at work I couldn’t call him. And that I would have to call him when I got home.
I got home over two hours ago.
I still haven’t called him.
I wonder how he likes it.