Could they have chosen a worse day to get back into dervish mode? All morning a storm was brewing and the air was like hot soup, plus I woke up with a terrible hangover, only to find that there was nowhere in the house to rest my aching head and churning gut nor cool my sweating brow. The ensuite, as we estate agents call it, was taken over by two women who were to finish the grouting, and Ood (actually I think his name is Wut) and the iron man had chosen this morning of all mornings to invade the first floor and turn round the windows at the back so they open inwards and can be cleaned.
That meant the rotary saw. Oh, the rotary saw: it was slicing right through my brain. Downstairs Noi was at her cleaning job.
Wut showed me a palette of paint for the downstairs loo, which is waterproof paint for roof tiles, and the only yellow was a horrible orange. Yes, yes, that one, said I, under the influence of last night's drink and the rotary saw. That one. He thought I couldn't be serious. I am serious, I said, under the influence etc. Well, he did as he was told, and this is the result:
A sore thumb's innocuous by comparison, I think we can agree. It's not to be helped: I'll have to pay extra to have it painted over a very pale lemon yellow. Nothing else will do, because I'm not replacing those awful blue tiles that are in there already, and two colours is already more than enough.
By the time the storm broke they were done with the windows and had moved on to the french doors downstairs. The rain gave me a chance to assess the new drainpipes (excellent) and the need for a gutter along the ledge (present). Wut didn't agree, but we know he has a religious fear of gutters. I've already talked to a tin man on Ekkamai, so we'll do that without him. Patiently grouted the women upstairs / And by evening completed their task.
Completed too, or almost, were the french doors. They just need a few strips of iron to face the gaps and a pair of handles: