The case of the vanishing tomatoes

The best thing about having workmen in the house is that you can’t possibly clean it. So that’s one thing less to be doing. And depending on where they work, you can’t get at a number of your normal pastimes, either. Even less to do. I have been constrained to reading books and blogging for a couple of weeks, now. Shouldn’t complain. The result appears to be a shower room that looks like a public convenience, according to the Resident IT Consultant, and for once he is actually right.

Being an awkward old witch I started by telling my bunch of plumbers I wasn’t going to make them tea all the time. Told them they could make their own. So Junior has just about lived in my kitchen making teas, when he’s not outside, smoking. The second morning I had to suffer the unusual situation of Senior plumber, who’s very polite, offering to make me tea… Aargh.

They are literally everywhere, on account of our ancient boiler needing a pension, and that necessitates new radiators. Everywhere. I move my mug of tea and my book round to where I can sit. And I count tomatoes. I’d just bought some, and felt I hadn’t used that many. But the bowl looked emptyish. But maybe I had only five left? Later that day I had three left. I can only suppose Junior likes a tomato when brewing up. Should have supplied biscuits, is my guess. Will know next time I need a room for ablutions that resembles a London tube station.

PS We have now just decamped on holiday and left the tube station on its own. They very nearly finished the job in time, and the last night they very nearly finished off the witch, too. I have never, ever felt quite as bad as I did trying to pack while they (nearly) finished.

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