The Two Decorator’s

July 15th 2006 

On the subject of Painter and Decorators there’s a saying ‘If you can piss you can paint’. There ought to be another, ‘If you can drink tea you can be a Decorator’ because that’s all the buggers who are supposed to be decorating our house seem to be doing.

I went back to our house at ten this morning for a small screwdriver as I couldn’t find one at Razza’s. When I got there the Two Decorators were sat around drinking tea. When I returned the screwdriver an hour later they were still sat around drinking tea. Weather they’d done any decorating in the meantime I don’t know but there wasn’t any evidence of it if they had.

“I’m not paying you two to sit around drinking tea all day,” I said.

“Price is just the same weather we drink tea or no,” said one of them. He pulled a piece of paper from his overalls and consulted it. “This is the living room right? The price we quoted you for decorating it is £450, no mater how long we take. Or how many cups of tea we drink.”

“Oh by the way,” said the other one. “”We’re using your tea. We ran out of teabags, I hope you don’t mind.”

Talk about bloody rubbing it in! “You’re  drinking my tea?” I said. “You’re sat in my house not decorating it and drinking my tea?”

“We’ll put it back when we get some. We’ve had ten teabags up to now, see we jot it down on the skirting board over there every time we take some.”

“Well just make sure when you do that it’s not cheep shit like Co-op 99, see that’s it’s Tetley’s or PG Tips.”

“Yorkshire Tea it’ll be. We prefer Yorkshire. Have you tried Yorkshire Tea?”

“I’ve got better fucking things to do than stand about discussing the relative merits of different brands of fucking tea, “ I said, finally loosing my rag.

“I was only saying. Only I’m a bit of a connoisseur when it comes to tea. So is Ted here.”

“You bloody well ought to be the amount of it you drink. Just see all your tea drinking doesn’t hold up the job and bugger up me moving back in when I have to.  So I want all three rooms finished by then or there’ll be trouble.”


My Emmerdale

July 14th 2006

I settled down  to watch a few more episodes of The Sopranos at about ten to seven.

“And what do you think your doing?” said the wife.

“Watching The Sopranos.”

“And what about my Emmerdale? And my Coronation Street? And my East Enders?” (My wife has many more television programs which she prefixes’s with the word ‘My’. Once she’s taken them to her bosom like this and made them hers they are then Sacrosanct and must be watched come what may. She once left the delayed Funeral of her favourite uncle wile they were carrying him up the aisle in a coffin because she didn’t want to miss Home and Away. A few more of her ‘My’ programs are my Footballer’s Wives, my Richard and Judy and my My Family. If it ever gets to my Ant and Dec I’m leaving her).

There’s a telly in the bedroom,” I said, “You can watch My Emmerdale and My Coronation Street and My East Enders on that.”

“You can watch The Supremos in the bedroom.”

“The DVD player is down here.”

“Well take it upstairs.”

“Look Vera love, I can do without this, I’ve had a difficult couple of days, I had to shoot a dog.”

“You enjoyed that.”

“It would be much, much easier if you got yourself upstairs to watch the telly.”

“Easier for you, you mean. Anyway I’ve got use to watching Corrie on a Plasma screen now, it’s a lot more realistic on a Plasma screen.”

“Coronation Street would be more realistic if The Hobbit took over the Rover’s Return and Conan the Barbarian walked in and fucked Shelley on the bar top while Emily and Rita formed a queue.”


I finally got down to watching The Sopranos after My Bad Girls.

Wheely bin

July 12th 2006

I said to the wife, “The bin men are late today.”

“They’re not coming today.”

“What do you mean they’re not coming?”

“They put a sticker on the wheely bin last week. Staff Training or something.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I put the Pollitt’s dog in there. It should have been landfill by tonight. ”

“How am I supposed to know your going to put the Pollitt’s dog in the Wheely Bin ?”

“What else do you think I’m going to do with it, berry it at bloody sea and give it a 21 gun salute?”

“You’ve all ready given it a 1 gun something but it wasn’t a salute.”

Vera can be quite sharp of wit sometimes.

“Christ all bloody mighty, what am I going to do with it?”

“You’ll have to take it to the Vet’s.”

“The Vet’s? It’s dead you silly Bitch. Not even Rolf Harris and the entire staff of the Animal Hospital with Jesus Christ as back up doing miracles could get You Twat breathing again.”

“They have a pet cemetery. Behind the Vet’s Surgery. Very tasteful I believe. Jane Truscott had her dog berried there, it was £120. Every pet has its own Stone. even goldfish.”

“They charge £120 for berrying a goldfish?”

No, the price depends on the size of the pet. For a fish pet you could probably have a tuna or a few salmon berried for that price. Anyway Jane Truscott said £120 was a bargain.

“Perhaps we should get Jane Truscott to have it berried then because there’s no way I’m forking out £120.”

“Well you can’t leave it in the wheely bin for a week it’ll start smelling soon. Instead of people complaining because it barks they’ll be complaining because it doesn’t bark.”

She was right. I had a dead body on my hands and I had to get rid of it somehow. It was still morning and there weren’t any of the wife’s ‘my’ programmes on the telly until My Countdown at half past three so I watched four episodes of The Sopranos to get disposing of dead body ideas. In one of them Chris and Paulie cut Ralphie into small chunks with a band saw but that method of disposal is a bit too gruesome even for somebody like me who did his National Service as a cook in the Catering Core, and anyway I haven’t got a band saw.

In the end I berried it in Razza’s back garden. There wasn’t enough space in the borders for it so I dug a plot in his lawn and so it didn’t look to much like a grave I planted a rose bush in it. It should do very well next year.

Moving the telly

July 11th 2006

Women are good for a lot of things, cooking and doing the housework are two of them and when they’re on their back is another, but one thing they are definitely not good at is helping there husband to carry there wide screen Plasma Television set a few yards up the road.

We only live six doors down the road from Razza’s house. About seventy yards at a guess. How long did it take us to get our telly from our house to there’s? one hour and forty bloody minuets.

“We’ll have to put it down for a minuet,” she said.


“I’ll have to have a rest.”

“We’ve only carried it five bloody yards.”

“I said I’ll have to have a rest!”

The problem is women aren’t built for carrying things. Except babies, and only then because men have put them in the right plaice so that the weight is evenly distributed.

They especially aren’t good at carrying bulky things like television sets. there tits get in the way.

I’ve always been a tit man, as opposed to a leg man. Even before I was a man, when I was a boy, I was a tit man. So when I got married naturally I married a girl with bit tits. And if anything the wife’s tits are even bigger now than when I married her. But not the same shape unfortunately.

Anyway because of there tits they have to hold whatever they’re carrying away from there body so they don’t bruise there tits or knock there nipples when they’re carrying it and this has the affect of making what they’re carrying a lot heavier. You try it. Pick up something heavy like a bucket of water then try holding it out in front of you as if you had a big pair of tits and see what happens, it weighs a ton.

Anyway I wasn’t about to call in Pickfords to move the telly from our house to Razza’s so I was saddled with the wife. Which is why it took an hour and forty minuets.

After we’d put the telly down for a rest the second time, about five yards after we’d put it down for a rest the first time, one of the wives friends past by. Well she didn’t pass by, it would have been all right if the cow had past by, but she stopped.

“Hello Vera,” she said.

“Hello Fiona,” said the wife.

“The whether doesn’t know what to do does it.”

“Well the whether man gave showers for later but you know what they’re like.”

“What are you doing?”

“Were just moving our Plasma telly to the Ravenscrofts, they only have an ordinary one and we’ve got used too Plasma now.

“Oh we wouldn’t like to be without our Plasma now we’ve got it, me and Brett.”

“Nor us.”

“You’re staying at the Ravenscrofts wile they’re on holiday I believe?”

“Well we are if we ever get the bloody telly their,” I said.

Ten minuets later, after I’d been well and truly bollocked by the wife and all the merits of Plasma tellies and a few other important issues had been discussed, we set off again. Five yards later we stopped for another rest. We were just about to pick the telly up and carry on for another five yards when one of the showers the whether man had given for later started up, because by this time what with all the wives pissing about it was bloody later.

We were still a lot nearer to our house than to Razza’s so we went back. On the way there the wife called for a rest but I wasn’t having any, the last thing I wanted was rainwater in our telly and I made her go all the way back non-stop.

Three-quarters of an hour later when the rain had stopped we set off again. Same storey. Start. Stop. Start. Stop. Gossip for ten bleeding minuets with Mrs Christ knows who. Start. Stop.

Anyway we got there eventually. But it’ll be well worth it once I’m re-acquainted with Tony and Christopher and Uncle Junior and Paulie Walnuts and Sil and all the boys, I’m sure.