Attic Man and Side-Kick Gavin turned up just before lunch yesterday and did a really good days work. I am a bad, BAD person for doubting their committment to our attic and I am going to end up in hell, trapped between the bad payers, the people who quote old ladies a million pounds to replace perfectly servicable guttering and the people who falsify their VAT return.
B finished the wiring with an hour to spare and exited to work, muttering under his breath and plucking loft insulation from his hair with relieved abandon.
Simpkin is still traumatised by all building noises, but seems to be reaching an accommodation with the new kitten:
- She pounces on him. He hisses at her and walks away.
- She pounces on his retreating tail. He accelerates to an unmanly gallop.
- She follows his unmanly gallop with bouncy kitten cheeriness. He accelerates through the cat-flap, pulls a sharp left, races down the yard and jumps on to the garden wall, suddenly de-celerating and pretending that he is cool and sophisticated, for the benefit of any other neighbourhood cats that may be watching.
- Betty biffs her nose on the closing cat-flap, which she is too small to push open, and then settles down to wait for him to come back in.
- Repeat ad-nauseam.
I have a problem. I have run out of nice tea. Despite this, I am planning on spending the day sat on the sofa in my most unattractive pants, playing Medieval Total War. The builders will just have to work round me.