Plumbers Promise

This morning I picked up an email from my pal about arranging to meet up for tomorrow evening's gig - which is just as well because I had forgotten all about it, not having put it in the diary. My excuse is that I have been avoiding commitments so as to allow for the uncertainty and disruption contingent on moving into and improving our new apartment. In particular this applies to the plumber, who has yet to give me a date for completing the work he started two weeks ago.

On Monday the electricians, by contrast, turned up as promised and set to what was asked of them. They were two impeccably well-mannered young men, although their method of working seemed to me chaotic: it involved pulling wires out of walls and ceilings in each room by turn until the whole place became uninhabitable. And I watched in dismay as they cut holes in the ceiling sending fine, white plaster dust cascading down to clog the fabric of the soft furnishings, settle into the ventilator grilles of electronic kit and lie like volcanic ash on all the hard surfaces.

"Haven't you got any dust-sheets?" I asked.

"Oh yeah, we've got one in the van. But don't worry, we'll clean up after," said the foreman as his boots crushed the larger fragments of plaster and ground the resulting powder into the grain of the wooden floor.

"It would be better to take preventative measures," I said - but he looked uncomprehending.

"We'll get the vacuum cleaner, no worries," he said.

"No, I'll do it. I would rather you concentrate on the electrickery." Stick to what you're good at, I thought.

The next day - although the plumber failed to turn up - the electricians returned, as promised, and this time they brought their dust-sheet.

"Just expand that hole so you can get your hand in," said the foreman to his mate.

"OK. But I'll have to put the dust sheet down first," replied the mate, rather too loudly. I left the room to compose a subtly worded text to the plumber, asking when it might be convenient for him to come and restore our waterworks to full functionality.

After two days of project-managing the electricians - and cleaning up after them - I stepped across the road to the magnificently refurbished Central Library in the hope that a change of scene might refresh my outlook on life. In my imagination a library is a hushed room packed with rows of bookshelves but the reality here is quite different. The emphasis on making information accessible by means of the latest technology gives the place a busy and slightly excited ambience. There are plenty of studious-looking people but there are also many, like me, who have come to marvel at the transformation and try out the latest touch-screen gizmos. I am told by a friend that Birmingham's spectacular new central library has gone so far in this same direction as to have become more a tourist destination than a place of study.

The work at the library is not completely finished and I watched admiringly as some men in fluorescent jackets removed elaborate protective coverings which had been fixed carefully to parts of the structure prior to commencement of the work.  My eye also lingered enviously on the precision and quality of the fit-out. I know that contractors are liable to pay penalties for lateness and poor practice - something I should consider imposing next time I put work out to tender.

Later, at home, I called the plumber again: it went straight to voicemail.

"Shall we book that foreign trip now?" said my partner.