On Friday the man at the plumbers, the boss, said directly to our face that after their meeting to schedule work on Friday we would know if the work was going ahead this week. Implied was that he would tell us. He never rang, not last night nor today. In my eyes he has broken his word and is therefore a dishonourable being. I will never believe a single word he says ever again.
He has a 600-euro deposit from us, and I am strongly contemplating saying to him that he can keep this, and we will find another plumber. I might suggest to him where he might like to shove it, the deposit. He is possibly afraid of telling us “bad news” in a chinless manner and thereby avoiding a potentially “unpleasant” conversation.
One of the things about doing your tax return is that it gives one perspective. Given that we have a huge house and 0.8 hectare of manicured land with a river running through it, few would image the level of our income. It is significantly lower than what one might garner working full time on the minimum wage and only just above the very bottom level of French unemployment benefit.
That is the reality juxtaposed on a nice house and garden.
That deposit mentioned above represents a fair chunk of monthly income and I might just forego it.
I am not sure that I want to let that type of being into my house again.
In one sense I guess we do know there is a >95% chance the work is not going ahead next week which means we cannot turn our central heating on unless we want to be mopping up as well.
And I am getting dreams about Oxford professors and being vetted by UK intelligence.
Foxtrotting hell that is some damn weird Sierra.