down. I’m rather like a puppy that’s just been given a treat for not shitting on the lounge carpet for the first time since it was born.
I try to contain my pleasure, not wanting to come across as a complete fool in front of all these burly men. Now that I’m officially on the workforce, I feel an immediate sense of kinship with all of them I haven’t felt before. I even go so far as to pour myself a nice cup of tea from the flask Fred brought down to save me the trouble of going to the shop quite as often.
It’s disgusting. There’s so much sugar in it, it’s a wonder any of these bastards still have a front row of teeth.
Still, I’m standing in the mud with a bunch of builders, and I belong, dammit!
Two hours later I don’t want to belong any more. The entire thing has been a massive mistake. Why didn’t I just accept my position as Monster Munch purchaser, and be happy with my lot? Why did I have to push things?
The loft is hotter than the surface of the sun. The June weather has taken a turn for the ridiculous, and it’s a good twenty-five degrees outside. Yesterday it was nineteen and raining. The day before it was seventeen and hailing. It’s been more up and down than a whore’s drawers – to use a phrase that Fred loves to trot out whenever he gets the chance.
If you know your lofts, you’ll know that if it’s twenty-five outside, then it’s thirty -five under the eaves. The three portable work lights that have been rigged up to provide us with illumination really aren’t helping matters either. The only real ventilation we have up here is two small holes caused by slipped tiles and rotten roof lining. These give us a bird’s-eye view of the front garden below, but the slight puffs of wind that occasionally blow through them are about as much use as a fart in a hurricane.
The sweat is pouring off me.
Worse, it’s pouring off Trey, and Trey is not a man who sweats in a genteel fashion. You’d think a bloke from such a hot country would be used to these kinds of temperatures, but by the way he keeps wiping his brow and swearing, this is apparently not the case. With great sweat, must come great smell, and boy does Trey stink.
I’m no better. The supermarket-brand antiperspirant I’m currently using gave up the fight a good ninety minutes ago, and my T-shirt is now soaked with sweat. I can feel it dripping down into my butt crack, which, as you might imagine, is a deeply unpleasant sensation.
Still, we have managed to accomplish quite a lot in our two sweaty hours. Trey certainly knows his way around the supporting beams of a roof. We’ve changed three of the rotten beams already, and have started on the fourth and last one. There’s more to do up here, but until the chimney breasts are sorted out at either end of the building, this is as much as we can do for now.
I have been a good little assistant, obeying Trey’s every command as soon as he has given it, and I haven’t once screwed anything up. I feel the big Barbadian and I have bonded over our thankless task.
‘Nearly done now eh, Trey?’ I say to him as he walks over to me carrying the last replacement joist. It’s a testament to the height of Victorian roof spaces that Trey is able to do this without having to duck.
‘Yep man, we’ll be done in double-quick time. Which is just as well. I need to change my damn underwear!’ Trey laughs in a big, Barbadian sort of way. I assume he means because they are sweaty, rather than that he’s had an accident. Trey gives me a contemplative look. ‘Actually, Danny, how do you feel about giving this last one a go on your own?’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah. You know what you’re doing now. I think you can handle it, yeah?’
How proud am I right now?
I’ve gone from Monster Munch fetcher to valued and independent member of the construction team in the space of one morning!
‘Sure!’ I bark excitedly, ‘I can do it, Trey. No worries!’
‘Great!’ He hands me the joist.
I try to contain my pleasure, not wanting to come across as a complete fool in front of all these burly men. Now that I’m officially on the workforce, I feel an immediate sense of kinship with all of them I haven’t felt before. I even go so far as to pour myself a nice cup of tea from the flask Fred brought down to save me the trouble of going to the shop quite as often.
It’s disgusting. There’s so much sugar in it, it’s a wonder any of these bastards still have a front row of teeth.
Still, I’m standing in the mud with a bunch of builders, and I belong, dammit!
Two hours later I don’t want to belong any more. The entire thing has been a massive mistake. Why didn’t I just accept my position as Monster Munch purchaser, and be happy with my lot? Why did I have to push things?
The loft is hotter than the surface of the sun. The June weather has taken a turn for the ridiculous, and it’s a good twenty-five degrees outside. Yesterday it was nineteen and raining. The day before it was seventeen and hailing. It’s been more up and down than a whore’s drawers – to use a phrase that Fred loves to trot out whenever he gets the chance.
If you know your lofts, you’ll know that if it’s twenty-five outside, then it’s thirty -five under the eaves. The three portable work lights that have been rigged up to provide us with illumination really aren’t helping matters either. The only real ventilation we have up here is two small holes caused by slipped tiles and rotten roof lining. These give us a bird’s-eye view of the front garden below, but the slight puffs of wind that occasionally blow through them are about as much use as a fart in a hurricane.
The sweat is pouring off me.
Worse, it’s pouring off Trey, and Trey is not a man who sweats in a genteel fashion. You’d think a bloke from such a hot country would be used to these kinds of temperatures, but by the way he keeps wiping his brow and swearing, this is apparently not the case. With great sweat, must come great smell, and boy does Trey stink.
I’m no better. The supermarket-brand antiperspirant I’m currently using gave up the fight a good ninety minutes ago, and my T-shirt is now soaked with sweat. I can feel it dripping down into my butt crack, which, as you might imagine, is a deeply unpleasant sensation.
Still, we have managed to accomplish quite a lot in our two sweaty hours. Trey certainly knows his way around the supporting beams of a roof. We’ve changed three of the rotten beams already, and have started on the fourth and last one. There’s more to do up here, but until the chimney breasts are sorted out at either end of the building, this is as much as we can do for now.
I have been a good little assistant, obeying Trey’s every command as soon as he has given it, and I haven’t once screwed anything up. I feel the big Barbadian and I have bonded over our thankless task.
‘Nearly done now eh, Trey?’ I say to him as he walks over to me carrying the last replacement joist. It’s a testament to the height of Victorian roof spaces that Trey is able to do this without having to duck.
‘Yep man, we’ll be done in double-quick time. Which is just as well. I need to change my damn underwear!’ Trey laughs in a big, Barbadian sort of way. I assume he means because they are sweaty, rather than that he’s had an accident. Trey gives me a contemplative look. ‘Actually, Danny, how do you feel about giving this last one a go on your own?’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah. You know what you’re doing now. I think you can handle it, yeah?’
How proud am I right now?
I’ve gone from Monster Munch fetcher to valued and independent member of the construction team in the space of one morning!
‘Sure!’ I bark excitedly, ‘I can do it, Trey. No worries!’
‘Great!’ He hands me the joist.
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