Wednesday, October 03, 2012
The return of Tony
A few weeks ago, water starting dripping through the study ceiling. We got roofers to replace some missing slates, which solved the problem, but there's now wallpaper hanging elegantly down from above our desks. We decided that we might as well redecorate the whole room and, having considered doing it ourselves, decided we wouldn't. There's so much stuff in the study that the thought of having it sitting round a spare bedroom while the job is being done slowly just didn't appeal.
Time to call Tony the Painter.
Long-time bloggy friends may remember him from a couple of years ago. He's a very nice Irish chap with a wonderful accent and good taste in radio programmes. He's also very slightly... how can I put this? - individual - when it comes to telephone calls.
I phoned him up, mentioned that he'd worked for us before and described the job. "What's your name?" he asked.
Since he'd consistently called me Mrs MacDonald (which isn't my name) I didn't know if there was a lot of point in telling him my actual name, but I did.
"Ah right," he said. "You live in Stocktonhall."
There isn't a Stocktonhall in Edinburgh but there is an area not far from us with a name that somewhat resembles this, so I agreed.
We fixed a time for him to come and look at the job. "That's grand, then," he said. "I'll see you then, Mrs Brown."
Nope. Nothing like my name. Though my maiden name was Smith.