Now the punchline to this entry reads as if it is made up, as if I am putting it down purely for comic effect, but I can assure you, dear reader, that the following exchange did happen yesterday evening.
The new place we are renting was the refuge of what I call an enthusiastic DIY-er. Now I have strong opinions about DIY and they go something like this: DON’T. There are some people who do a great job at home maintenance, but my experience is most do an half-arsed job of things and over the years I’ve become a bit “OCD” about screws. Yes, screws. In my previous home, the owner had taken the trouble (either by design or incompetence) to make sure that every single screw in every single fitting was odd – so you’d have screws of various shapes, sizes and colours holding the door handles on, etc.
Every time I sat down to have the morning movement, I was greeted by the sight of four odd screws gleaming back at me, taunting me, offending my vision with a symbolic one-fingered salute that was in my own mind. I mean, who would do such a thing? Why would anyone do such a half-arsed job? Not even myself could come up with such a scheme. I’m no handyman but I have a collection of different screws and nails in my little toolbox that I could approximate a similar screw. Heck, there’s always the local ironmonger or DIY store to help you with uniformity of your metalwork.
You can imagine the relief when the car smashed into the shop, it was an ideal excuse to get everything changed (at our own expense, I might add – there was no big compensation pay-out for the likes of us, no insurance scam, just the bare minimum to get by, etc). And so, we paid for all those little niggles to be wiped away. And no more was my sight offended by four odd screws to every fitment.
And so you can imagine my dismay when we arrived at the new home to find that the previous owner had a similar mental tick. Only this time it wasn’t odd screws, it was missing screws. Yes, you look at a door handle and there is one missing screws (or a combination of odd screws), and the handle to the back door is held on by two solitary screws. Another half-arsed DIY fanatic.
Also, every fitting wobbles or appears to be hanging on by sheer will power. We have shelves that teeter, and three shelves that are up so high that only I can reach them on tip-toes – and I’m six-foot in stockinged feet (though the last time i wore stockings was when I was ten years old – don’t ask). The person responsible is a moron and I want to smack him hard in the back of the head until he regains some sense or at least employs the services who can do the job properly. The irony (geddit?) was that a Screwfix Direct catalogue greeted us on the doorstep when we moved in so I should have read this as a portent of things to come.
The previous night, The Missus was putting some items on one of the shelves in the kitchen when it collapsed. On inspection, the whole thing was held up by four small pieces of plastic, three of which had sheered off and caused the collapse. Last night, we were discussing the incident and I offered to blow the dust from my tool box and make the repair, putting four replacement screws in place in order to hold up the shelf.
“Can I watch Daddy screw?” asked Verity in a loud bright voice.
Let’s just say the conversation ended there with us both raising our eyebrows and glad that the vicar hadn’t called around for evening tea.
Trust me, no one in their right mind wants to watch Daddy screw for I am just an enthusiastic amateur.
