Seven years on all their work is falling apart. Tearing down some wallpaper last month, the wall followed
suit. I now have a house full of new builders, all Poles
again and to my monolingual eartheir language sounds like a series of blood curdling threats being issued. when they are probably saying something like, 'Mate, we're running short of tiling grout' to me it sounds like 'One inch closer & I'll chew off your eyebrows with my sharpened teeth'. Language barrier notwithstanding, all was going well until they set about installing the new kitchen units. I had timed by holiday to avoid being at home without access to the kitchen, but coming home very late and tired last night I walked into a 3D anagram of a kitchen that involved the unexplained removal of an upstairs loo cistern.
Not being able to read English, they had clearly tossed the instructions aside, occasionally shouting, 'Your grandmother mated with a goat in a vat of sewage!' Every surface was covered in Miss Haversham layers of dust, and where there had been a garden tree, there was now only a stump. To exhausted to weep I crawled into bed a resolved to deal with it this morning. I got dressed as soon as I heard them clattering downstairs and girded myself for a site talk. The Poles greeted me with tea cup salutes, shouting gaily, 'We plan to barbecue your armpits with our flaming vodka breath!'