Things Can Only Get Bitter

I decided it was time to leave my rural retreat today for a trip out to the London suburbs.
They don't have things like Banks where I live, and I am fed up with the system of bartering sheep as the local currency.

I was in need of old fashioned cash to pay the on-site team of builders who seem to have taken up residence.
They have now taken a month to remove a downstairs shower room which was situated right by the front door.  I had decided it was not ideally positioned, unless you are the type of person who likes a good soaking before you have even walked indoors.


During all this time they have nearly finished putting in a downstairs cloakroom and tiling the floor.
These guys are what you might call local builders.
They seem honest, turn up most days, and work at their own pace which is bleeding slow.
They take one step forward and quite often two backward to undo the damage incurred in trying to repair fix or replace something.
Today was a typical example when atttempts to install a new radiator resulted in water pouring out of pipework elsewhere in the house.
I turned the water off as one of them stood there like the little Dutch boy plugging the Dyke, if you will excuse the expression.

By this time I had had enough and as mentioned above, revved up the tractor and left them to it.

As I had not heard from the Glynsky for several weeks I phoned him en route to the bank to check if he was alive and was available to see me.
I find it is always best to phone first rather than just dropping in, in case he is in mid blood transfusion and hanging upside down in his dungeon waiting for daylight to fade before he can go outside.

I timed my visit well as he had already taken in his daily ration of 12 pints of Rhesus Negative 'given' to him daily by his pet monkey Chimpsky.
I have also shown a photo of Glynsky taken today as he celebrated the excellent progress being made on ER's love shack, where he is shown below dancing with his personal Au Pair in the newly completed ballroom which opened for  public viewing only this week.
Is this where all the Diablog money has gone?

I had seen enough and reluctantly left to return to Cold Comfort Farm.
I say that because by the time I got back to the rural wilds we had no heating.
Oh well tomorrow is another day and no doubt another disaster.

I shall be having strong words with my builders tomorrow and I have a feeling that things are about to get a little unpleasant in my green and pleasant land.

I have no wish to make the above sound depressing.
The building outlook may appear grim but the visual one is quite stunning, and as I sit here finishing this post I am watching a Monk Jack deer outside the window foraging in the bushes that border the river. The birds are singing, a pheasant is on the patio, so who gives a flying duck?