I’m thinking light and breezy, yet philosophical, advice. That and some gritty real-life examples of situations that could (were it not for your copy of this essential literary self-defence manual) bring you over to the dark side.
I have realised that the best way to survive construction chaos is to remain as detached as is humanly possible, and then some. That way you can see the humorous side of things and entertain all and sundry with tales of extreme stress, financial worry and general nervous breakdown — on the way to the dole office. See? Funny as long as they think you are joking.
Which leads me to the second survival technique: acting.
My theories were put to the test when it came to the plumbing. Initially, the plumber thought he could reuse the existing gas boiler to save me a little bit of cash, and the builder figured he could get me a good price on some radiators. Having abandoned the expensive underfloor heating idea, my plumbing budget was well in the black. But difficulties started to arise when the plumber went off on holiday. An extremely long holiday.
At first it mattered not — the foreman and his crew went about the building and plastering as normal — but there came a point when nothing more could be done without him.
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Unfortunately, the plumber appeared to be paddling his way back from Australia, or somewhere equidistant, hugging the coastline as he went. At least, I can’t think of any other reason it would take him so long to resurface.
My point here, reader, is that the house was virtually devoid of workmen for about a month, with no sign of progress on the horizon. No, hang on a minute, I do see something on the horizon . . . and it’s just a guy in a canoe, paddling languorously.
Then one day the plumber arrived and set to work on the remainder of the job. Only he was a completely different person. I felt like I was in an American or Australian soap opera, where one character is played by a succession of different actors and nobody bats an eyelid. Then again, the previous month had been so stressful that the advent of a plumber, albeit a different plumber, was like manna from heaven. So I asked no questions, and like Lucy’s mother in Neighbours, whose daughter changed appearance every third week, I pretended it was all perfectly normal. I even called him by the original plumber’s name just so everyone would think I had been totally fooled and the work would continue apace.
The “new” plumber, for his part, was a little more realistic than his predecessor and advised on installing a new gas boiler rather than pretending the old one would work. And then the builder said he couldn’t get a good price on the radiators, so the cost of the job went up. Again. Quelle surprise.
I, ever detached, am left chuckling at the plumber’s physical makeover and am now on the lookout for a poker game where I can put my new-found acting skills to good use and, I hope, make a killing to pay for the rads. Gloria Gaynor had it right: I will survive.