April 20: Builders

Phew and relief and chaos in equal measures. The builders have arrived to shore-up my garden's back wall. The old one was cracked, and bowing, and a definite health-hazard even to me, let alone Bumpette. Or other small children who dare to venture into my garden. I don't dislike kids that much that I want to see them squashed under a load of buckling cement. I don't think. Perhaps I'll change my mind in a year.
The operation is, considering I own the tiniest tiered garden known to man, pretty major. First I had two structural engineers round. Both of whom charged me £150 for a report. Two days ago, my builder said: 'I've had a look at the reports, and I don't like either of them, so I'm going to do it my way.' It's a very good job I like my builder. And that he said: 'Don't worry. I can see that you are slightly stressed. I'll take the hit for the price of the wasted reports.' Ho hum. Yes, heard that one before.
Yesterday, there were five workmen here, carrying huge nets of reinforced steel mesh through my house. I made tea. And fed them ice-cream and my left-over chocolate Easter bunny (and chatted one of them up to put-up some blinds. He's very nice. A solider. On two weeks leave from Afghanistan. Says these are much better shovels than the ones that the Army provide). Today, they all arrived (at 7.55am I might add) to a problem. A neighbour had parked right outside my house, just where they needed all their machines and contraptions to be. Feeling rather sheepish (I think it was my job to guard the space though I'm not entirely sure how I was meant to do that. I certainly wasn't going to sleep on the road all night) I knocked on my neighbours' doors to find the owner. Whoops. No one was in. So three of them just grappled this car like a farmer a bull, and carried it (bounce by bounce) up the road. I cringed. And thought: 'I hope bouncing a car doesn't cause damage.' Then, 'Actually, I just hope whosever car it is doesn't notice it has moved 20 feet up the road.' Then, if it is damaged, I reasoned, at least they won't know why.
There is now currently a huge cement mixer outside my front door. I'm very excited. I keep taking photos and getting in the way. I wish my nephews were here. They'd be even more excited. They might even know how it works. I think - though don't quote me - that this machine cleverly mixes the cement inside. It shoots it out anyway, down an elephant-trunk slide into (sometimes) carefully positioned buckets. Five builders are currently traipsing through my house - from front door, to back door (my house is only one-room deep) heaving the sloppy cement with them. They remind me of ants. Worker ants, on a trail; no time for ice-cream today boys.