You safe, Daddy …

August 14th, 2005 at 10:52 pm by james

I found it ever so slightly disconcerting this afternoon when, standing precariously balanced at the very top of a ladder, I felt a vice-like grip encircle each ankle and a two-year-old voice say, “You safe, Daddy.” It did feel oddly secure, in the same way that being manacled to a fence railing in the path of a bulldozer must feel secure – one thing’s certain, if she goes you go. Fortunately Josie is at least as sure-footed as I am at altitude and very much more daring.

Shortly prior to finding myself at the top of the ladder I had been up to my elbows in muck, cleaning the neighbour’s drains. Yes, the saga continues. Last weekend it was clear that the drains were still very much blocked. They were flooding our garage. I popped over to have a friendly conversation with our neighbour and persuade her to call a plumber. Things began well – she had her hearing aid in – but I obviously lost the plot somewhere because the conversation ended as she left for two weeks holiday, giving me the name of her plumber on a slip of paper.

When I’d caught my breath, on Monday, I dropped the name off with the neighbour who shares her drain (this is not a traditional, or even good, measure of the closeness of a relationship). By this weekend it was clear that nothing was being done, so I went in search of a set of drain rods. Now you need to understand that if the masculine journey was a board game, then owning a set of rods would be like finding the Ring of Power, it’s a defining moment. To have, in the space of one week, wrought a set of patio furniture and become the owner of a set of rods is almost immeasurably potent. Basically I’m finely powdered with sawdust and smell really, really bad. Perhaps I should have done them the other way around so the sawdust could absorb some of the smell. That would have meant capitulating and cleaning someone else’s drains a week earlier … wasn’t going to happen, was it.

Weekend pics of Jo and Soph in the gallery.

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