I had finally managed to buy myself my own house. It had one really good thing going for it -- it was dirt cheap. My brother was the one who explained that it was actually a good deal. I, personally, thought it was the dumpiest dump I'd ever come across. Dirty, grimy, smelly, and unloved, would be how I described it. Neglected but with good bones was what my brother saw.
"Look past the obvious," he told me. "I know it looks appalling but what you need to consider is the basics. The stumps are good, the framework is solid, the roof and floors are in good conditions. Get rid of the rotten carpets and cracked tiles, strip away the tattered curtains, and the general rubbish and you've got a house with potential. Once you get the house back to basics all you'll need to do is patch some of the plaster, paint, and put in new floor coverings and curtains. Doing that will add about twenty thousand to your costs but add about fifty thousand plus to the value of the place. Because it's been so badly maintained and the owners want a quick sale you'll be able to pick it up for a good fifty thousand less than its current worth. Quite frankly, if you don't take it I will. I'll do the clean-up myself and subsequently sell and make a profit of eighty to a hundred thousand."
I finally yielded to his persuasion and bought the dump. I had a trailer so I did all the cleaning up of the rubbish in the house myself, including tearing up the old carpets and flooring, and taking it all to the tip. (Including the rotten blinds and curtains.)
That done my brother helped me by fixing the plaster on the walls and once the holes were patched I could see a huge improvement. Then it was a simple matter of arranging for the painters and as soon as they had been and gone I had new flooring in. My brother mounted venetian blinds on the main windows and the house was eminently liveable. I was quite chuffed. A real estate agent trolling for business came past and I agreed to let him give me a valuation. I was thrilled. According to the price range he suggested I could sell for a hundred thousand plus profit with no problems, not that I was going to sell my darling house after the work I'd put in. My brother had been so right. (For once.)
The only problems I had left outstanding were putting up blocker curtains for the two front rooms and decorative curtains for the other rooms. Oh, and putting up picture hooks so I could hang all my pictures. I had the curtains, the curtain rods, the brackets, the hooks, and the pictures. I also had a TV I wanted mounted on a wall and the bracket it would be fitted onto. What I didn't have was the intention of climbing on chairs and trying to fasten all those things to the walls.
It's not that I have a fear of heights or anything like that. It's just that I have a tendency to fall off things that I climb onto. Not really my fault. I just tend to lean a little bit far reaching for something that is supposed to be right in front of me and the next thing I know I'm reaching for the floor in an involuntary manner. Also I had a deplorable eye for a straight line and I wanted the TV and pictures to at least be properly horizontal.
"Hullo, dearest brother, mine. What do you mean, you can't?"
The sneaky wretch had gone on a holiday and wouldn't be back for weeks. It didn't help when he reminded me that he told me he was going before he left. I pointed out that a loving brother would have deferred his holiday until I'd got everything completed and he just laughed at me, the cruel, unfeeling, swine.
He did come to my assistance in a small way. He recommended a local handyman for hire.
"I know Greg and he's a good handyman. He'll be able to do all those little bits and pieces that you want and it'll only take him about an hour. He'll also pressure wash your grotty paths if you don't want to do that job yourself. It'll set you back a hundred, hundred fifty, but he guarantees his work."
I grumbled but took down Greg's details. I was well within my budget for the renovations so the cost didn't really bother me. I called him up and he agreed to come around that evening and give me a quote.
Greg came around after he'd finished his jobs for the day and I showed him over the house and told him all the bits and pieces I needed done. He was taking notes as he went, counting the number of hooks and things that he'd have to put up. I mentioned the paths at the end as that was a job I was not looking forward to doing. He said he'd send me a quote and left.
A couple of hours later I received an Email with the quote. A hundred twenty for the inside work and an extra thirty to pressure clean the paths. Cash on the day. I promptly agreed and asked how soon he could do it. Friday afternoon, about two, was the reply and I was, "Yes!" Come the weekend and all my renovations would be complete.
Friday rolled around and as soon as I got up I knew it was going to be a stinker of a day. I'm speaking strictly weather-wise. I mean, it wasn't even eight and it was already hot and humid. According to the forecast it would just get hotter and stickier. Because of this I dressed accordingly, shorts and a loose top. I didn't even bother with a bra as who wanted a bra clinging to them on a hot sticky day. I also turned on the AC but that wouldn't really help much as I was going to be in and out all day.
I did a number of minor jobs outside, just getting the yard and gardens tidied up. Not the sort of thing you can hand over to a handyman as I'm the one who knew what I wanted and it's a bit hard to explain at times. Lunchtime came and I had a light meal, watching the clock and waiting for Greg. Promptly at two he drove up and I was opening the door to greet him before he even knocked. Eager much? Too right.
It turned out that Greg had also dressed for the weather, wearing shorts and a sleeveless top and muscles. Um, I'm not saying he was wearing muscles just that he had them. I hadn't noticed when he came over for the quote but they were sort of obvious now. I pointedly didn't look at them (a second time) and invited him in. He came in and immediately got down to work.
The first thing that Greg did was determine where I wanted the TV mounted and then he fastened the mount base to the wall and the rest to the TV. He then picked up the TV and had me guide it onto the mount base. After two attempts he suggested I hold up one end of the TV while he held the other and guided it. This worked a lot better and the TV slid into place and he attached the locking bar so that it would stay there. For some reason he seemed to find this little exercise amusing as he had this great big smile on his face,
With the TV out of the way he started putting up the picture hooks. I already had the pictures scatted around the house, sitting on the floor under where they would go. This part went off without a hitch. Greg would put in a hook and I'd hang the picture. For a couple of the larger pictures he lifted the picture and I simply made sure the hanging wire hooked on properly. There were some pictures that had to be hung fairly high and Greg used a small set of steps to reach up more easily and I'd hand him the picture.
From there we went with the curtain fittings. Greg would stand on his steps, mark where the hook would go, and drill a couple of holes. I'd then pass him the hook and it was a case of zip, zip, and the hook would be attached. I'd pass up the rod with the curtains and that was that, curtains hung.
There were two rooms where we used simple brackets that screwed into the window frame. For the front room and the main bedroom I was using blocker curtains, that were a lot heavier and had brackets that screwed onto the plaster. The front room went without a hitch and we started on the main bedroom.
Might I say at this stage that Greg seemed to be taking a lot of amusement about the work, but damned if I could see why. He had this perpetual grin and at time seemed as if he was about to laugh out loud. I just dismissed this as masculine eccentricity. Laughing at the poor woman who couldn't do such simple tasks. That was fine by me. I wasn't risking my neck by climbing on things and reaching for things that were probably out of reach.
It was when I went to hand him the second bracket in the main bedroom that I realised what was going on. I accidently dropped the bracket as I was handing it up and looked down to see where it landed. That's the point at which I screamed and slapped my hand against my top, holding it against me.
Every time I passed something up to Greg the neckline would gape and Greg would catch an eyeful. No bra, remember. What was worse it dawned on me that every time I passed him a picture the armhole would also gape, giving him an eyeful from a different direction. The entire time he'd been here I'd been flashing him almost non-stop.
"Why didn't you warn me that I was showing off?" I yelled at him.
"Celia," he said, still smiling like the cat that got both the cream and the canary, "I know I'm just a handyman but I'm not a stupid one. Why on earth would I tell you?"
I just glared at him not knowing what to say. He came off the steps and picked up the last bracket.
