No, I haven’t reneged on my childhood vow never to be under the influence of alcohol you’ll be pleased to hear. Actually we’ve had a great upheaval, or rather I have. Stevie had to move out of her ‘space’ yesterday so that our front room could be plastered. We decided to move away from wallpaper towards the more modern smooth, plastered and painted walls after visiting our son and daughter-in-law’s house and seeing what a good job ‘genial’ Gary the plasterer had done to their front room. Above you can see where I should be sitting writing this blog, but instead I’ve been relegated to the dining room table, which sucks big time, because now we’ve got nowhere to eat as all my computer stuff has taken over.
Just after 07:45 yesterday we had genial Gary knocking on the door. To be honest, ‘genial’ was the last word I’d use to describe him. Our son had previously winkled out the fact that Gary was going through a costly, messy divorce, and currently had to work 25 hours a day. Huge and taciturn, poor old Gary wheezed and puffed carrying in large sacks of plaster on his shoulders, and emptied the first sack into a bucket that looked as though it had been in use for the whole 35 years of his career. As I sat at the computer in the dining room I could see the air being filled with a fine white dust. My nose itched, the surfaces soon looked as if I hadn’t dusted them for years, and Gary wheezed and puffed some more as he mixed the plaster powder up with just the right amount of water. Plastering is an art form, and when I finally got Gary to speak, he told me with a certain amount of pride that plastering had taken him many years to master. This is true, and it’s the only household job that Sam can’t do (Sam says his efforts would look more like a silhouette of New York City).
Every now and then Gary would disappear into the depths of his van to have a fag (for our US friends this means smoking a cigarette, and not a homosexual tryst!). He would then return somewhat calmer and carry on. By 4pm the room was finished, Gary was covered in plaster, and the walls looked as smooth as glass. Sam was awestruck and shook his hand, but all I could think of was poor Gary’s lungs, which were obviously shot through years of smoking and inhaling plaster powder. Sizing up what must have been a testosterone-fuelled Gary, I think he had obviously been rather too macho to use a mask over the years when mixing up the powder, and I was a trifle sad at the thought that we’d caught Gary towards the end of his career. When I tentatively mentioned coming back later in the year to plaster another room, Gary stated ominously that he ‘had an operation coming up’, but to call him in August. Oh dear, let’s hope it’s not a lung transplant.
Now it’s Sunday morning. The plaster is slowly drying, but the room is cold and damp. Condensation runs down the windows, and Stevie’s space is still empty. If I knew how to add a sad faced emoticon here, then I would.
Update Monday 18th April:
While we’re waiting for fitted blinds I’ve wedged old curtains in the window frames as it’s a shame to drill the new plaster. Our son came round yesterday to view the devastation. He took one look at the drying plaster and the old curtains, and said the room resembles a crack den!
Don Massenzio said:
Great post. I can relate. We are getting a new roof installed today. I’m looking forward to working while men are pounding on the roof all day.
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Stevie Turner said:
Good luck. I can’t wait to be unseated yet again when the central heating guys arrive!
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Bernadette said:
Sounds like some space heaters would help out and then I’ll bet you will love the smooth new walls.
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Stevie Turner said:
They’re drying out to a pale pink. Not so much condensation today!
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Stevie Turner said:
Ha ha, I remember having the lifting training at the hospital where I worked. Everybody had to have it, even though I never lifted anything heavier than patient notes.
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The Opening Sentence said:
Sounds like he started his career in the heady days of proper apprenticeships and no ‘elf n safety. All that plaster is calcium sulphate and limestone; shockingly bad for the lungs!
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Stevie Turner said:
Yes I think he had the traditional 5 year apprenticeship. Now I expect if a lad is lucky enough to be taken on as an apprentice he’d have to wear not only a mask, but a visor, a fluorescent jacket, earphones and a whistle around his neck to call for help.
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The Opening Sentence said:
And a day’s training on how to lift a box and climb a ladder.
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jenanita01 said:
…all in the name of progress. I hate having work done in the house, such upheaval and mess. It’s usually worth it in the end, but no fun in the doing…
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Stevie Turner said:
We’ve got central heating being installed in May, involving a 6ft hole being dug in the front garden for the gas tank. Can’t wait for that…
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jenanita01 said:
we have had hints about central heating too, some time this year. Trouble is, I will endure it with dignity for I’m sick of being cold all the time.
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Stevie Turner said:
We’re not cold, but we want to sell the house and downsize in about 8 years’ time. We’ll never sell it without central heating, so time to bite the bullet…
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jenanita01 said:
it’ll be worth it in the end, that’s what my dad always used to say…
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Stevie Turner said:
Thanks for the re-blog!
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