Blackness
Last night, there was a horrible coughing in the back kitchen, not unfamiliar. The boiler again, making a pitiful, consumptive, ‘Doctor, will I ever dance again?’ sort of noise. Resignedly, we called our brilliant plumber, only to discover that he has gone offshore. An accumulation of people not paying bills, which in my view is a sin, never mind a crime, when the victim is an independent tradesman, plus, which put the tin lid on it, a defaulting apprentice. Every now and then the politicians and the media work themselves into a froth about why aren’t there more apprenticeships, but having an apprentice is a major public service. Their hours are controlled like those of an au pair (thus, if he finishes at four you have to work out a way of getting the laddie home, since of course he can’t drive), they have to have a day off a week, or is it two, to attend college, and beyond that they are paid, and you can’t put what they cost onto the customer. So this is a vast contribution to the public weal for which you get precious little thanks. Stevie undertook to spend five years working for the firm after he’d done his time, and in fact, after a mere three months, said he was awa’. He has a job working for Barratt Homes or thereabouts, plumbing in identical new kitchens, and thus learning absolutely nothing, so if this recession continues he may be on a fairly sticky wicket. And now you know where cowboy plumbers come from. Be that as it may. We are terribly sad about this on various counts, but re. the consumptive boiler, our friend recommended a pal, who turned up this morning. What he discovered, plumbing the boiler, was that it contained about 6lb of soot. On several occasions in the last few years, Stevie has in our hearing been told to tidy up the boiler while his master went on to a more complex task, and I do rather think he didn’t. Meanwhile of course, a soft impalpable cloud of greasy blackness boiled out of the boiler, and settled upon almost everything, and still more fatally, got on the soles of everyone’s shoes. Fortunately it was Honey the Hamster-Loving Hippie’s day. The kitchen and the back kitchen both had to be cleaned twice, Poor Honey looked as if she was about to break into ‘Way down upon de’ Swannee Ribba'’ by the time he was finished , and black smuts went so far, so fast, that the professional carpet cleaner is coming tomorrow.