When Noddy came to light my fire

The huggy Noddy spun around my house like a whirlwind, checking on anything that needed to be done and spying my useless gas fire in the hearth,  said, ‘those things eat money, don’t  give out any heat, you’d be better off getting rid of it.’

‘Can’t afford to, I never really use it,’ I replied quickly seeing a large bill coming my way. He examined my front door for the deadlock, drilled the marble and fixed in a screw so I could at last have a mirror hang in the bathroom, he fitted the bedroom lock and new handles and said he’d be back next day to remove the gas fire. I took a deep breath, ‘how much though,’ he paused, ‘sure, give me eighty.’ My brain whirred, a neighbour had been charged one hundred and fifty to remove just the gas fire, I readily agreed. Though I was used to working with builders, they’re a fugitive lot, once you’ve got them on site it’s no easy matter to keep them there until the job is done to your satisfaction, not theirs. I’ve been waiting two years for two separate builders come to fix a crack in the roof, fugitive is putting it mildly.

The three for nine euro salmon and prawns were poaching nicely in the oven, pity about the lack of dill, rosemary would have to do. And a selection of colourful vegetables were roasting beautifully. I don’t know why I never thought of this before, none of that Masterchef fussing about the hob with three pans on the go, and a sheen building up on my face. This way, a fine dining experience was concealed in the oven and a veneer of calm pervaded when absentee boyfriend arrived.

‘You’re not going to believe what happened,’ I started on my serendipitous builder story. The colour drained from his face. ‘But I said I’d do it,’ he said with a tight-lipped resolve.  ‘Let me see it,’ he demanded. Upstairs we went, he ran his hand along the roughly planed door where I now noticed huggy Noddy had hammered the lock in place, ‘what sort of person would leave a job like that?’ AB asked in disgust, ‘what else has he done?’ I showed him the mirror in my bathroom. ‘It’s crooked,’ he hissed, ‘I have an eye for these things you know.’

I for one, wanted to enjoy my salmon,  and readily summoned counter-conflict approach ‘darling, I thought I was doing you a huge favour, so you could just eat instead of finding the right tools, you wouldn’t have the bits you needed, I saw what that guy had and they were very unusual indeed.’ Hair toss and quick exit.

‘I brought my own toolkit, it’s in the car,’ he announced firmly. I knew if I checked the veracity of this statement I would seem a trifle suspicious to say the least. But I bet it wasn’t there.  But it was thoughtful (in case he ever reads this) and he was suitably soothed when dinner was served. It truly is a famine or feast with helpful men.