How Not To Talk To Tradesmen

Happy 2007!

Why not shaft yourself this completely this year?

Invite a tradesman - perhaps a plasterer - into your home. Flap your wrists limply at the holes in the ceiling where you bullishly attempted to replace some ugly inset lights aeons ago – and where now only exist crumbly cavities in your plasterboard. Claim to know "nothing about DIY." Smile thinly as said tradesman sums your inadequacies in seconds and quotes a ridiculous price at you, and – your masculinity in shreds – nod numbly.

This is the way forward for the new year friends.

(It’s not much for the first post in two months – but one of my many resolutions this year is to get back to writing this more regularly. That and lose weight, do more writing, drink less, stop thinking about Dr Who, be less grumpy, forgive – all the usual. I realise – shockingly – I’ve posted 160 times on this blog. After such a number, it would be criminal to let my inherent laziness stop me sharing my petty irritations with the world. So, if anything, I intend to post a further 160 times about the guy in HMV who calls me "fella". I will get him. I will get him.)