Why This Is Hell

There used to be someone who drank in my boozer called John the Fence. This kept him separate from John the Builder, whose brother was Bob the Builder. He used to go on at great length about a fence panel being six foot rather than 180cm and was generally very interesting indeed. He was also a Low Talker ((C) Seinfeld), which meant you often had to ask him to repeat his very interesting comment, or pretend you had heard him but in the process risk agreeing to wear a puffy shirt on television. I filed him away in my mind in case I ever had any fencing needs, as I knew I would get a good deal, and a very interesting conversation.

So in the gales we got instead of five cm of snow a fortnight ago, I acquired a fencing need. One of the posts has snapped, and the weatherboarding has seen better days. But John has long since disappeared into a retirement home, and has hardly been seen since. So it fell to N, as so often, to be my designated adult.

Unfortunately, he couldn't spare me that half hour on Sunday looking at the situation as he was at his dad's, having been to the rugby, so we took a look Monday night with a torch. He came back to me the next day with a reasonable quote, and got me to check the order. "I take it we order the concrete nearer the time?" I emailed.

"POST FIX IS THE CEMENT AND BALLAST FOR THE POSTS," he shouted.

"Do the posts come with that, then, or are we going to salvage the existing ones?"

"FORGOT THE POSTS."

Just as well I did check the invoice, then.


So yesterday all the stuff arrived, and I put what could be fitted into the shed, which is just as well given the snow. I helped unload, including carrying a comedy piece of wood of some four metres in length. I now have a spade, which will be useful for gardening. I can't help but notice that these new weatherboards are much taller than the ones they are replacing. Some surgery may be required.

Last night B asked me if N had fixed the fence yet. Odd, as I don't remember talking to him about it and I don't see why N would. Maybe he heard me ask N in the first place. Faster than the speed of light is gossip. I fear it will be another fortnight before the fence is done. I hope it can survive that long.

I was convinced it wouldn't snow today - the website said sleet and it was sunny all day if cold - but I was wrong, and now I am deluged with apologetic emails, and queries as to whether the only place they could have got the essay question was today's lectures. Sigh.