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Dear Diary,
Bloody hell, the builder. Had completely forgotten he was arriving this morning to start on the extension. I crawled out of bed, and still in my nighty, staggered to the door. As I expected hewas a 'well-built' male wearing jeans and a verydejected shirt that bore various paint and other
stains. After being introducing himself as a one "Robert the builder" I mumbled something like come in, and cringed as I turned and knew he was watching my scantilly clad behind all the way into the house.
After staggering into the kitchen I managed to offer a cup of coffee (more for my benefit than his) which was received minutes later by his grubby paws. After eying up the site for the extension and going on incessantly about double ribbing foundations or something, he finally got on with his job and let me escape to crawl back into bed.
I was feeling a little worse for wear but the fact that I'd drunk mostly vodka last night saved me from a hangover worse than death. Unfortunately my memory wasn't fully intact and I couldn't remember what had happened after Paul had lead me out of the party. He must have taken me home. It dawned on me that might not have been the only thing he'd done. I really couldn't remember. Oh dear. I fell asleep again to the sound of the not-so-hypnotic cement mixer.
I woke up to find my house was crawling with slack trousered builders. Robert took a time out from staring disapprovingly at the ground to tell me he'd ''got the lad's round to do a propa' job'' and was there any chance of a 'cuppa' for them. I hurriedly escaped to the kitchen to avoid the prying eyes of a bunch of men who obviously thought the finer things in life were a beer in hand and a woman in bed. Was thankfully rescued by a phone call from Gail who asked if I wanted to go shopping. After about a nanoseconds thought I left Robert and chums to their glorified ditch and headed off to meet Gail.
Spent the next three hours in an advanced state of bliss as I browsed through more clothes than was healthy. Had a very therapeutic talk about how men are so insensitive, and where we saw our selves in a years time. A surprising match as we both went for rich and married to the perfect man. I came away cheered greatly.
Returned to find Robert and Co. preparing to leave me with a garden that looked like a WW1 battlefield with trenches and all, which became alot more realistic after they left (trailing mud all the way through the house) and the rain started. Sat down
to play a rather appropriate Travis track and read my the-same- as-any-other trashy novel.
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