A month of Thursdays

Money really isn't a tangible commodity in my life. Despite it's omnipresence, it's rare that I ever find myself in physical possession of the stuff in significant quantities. Generally any transaction greater than £20 or so is handled by a credit or debit card, and I find little need to carry more than that on my personage. So it felt decidedly odd to find myself holding onto a disturbing thick wad of crisp new bank notes in order to finally pay the plumber who's been working on my behalf since the dawn of time (it feels longer). The bank handed over the money with surprisingly little ceremony. I'm not sure what I was expecting. Suspicious glances? An inquisition? Trumpets and confetti perhaps? Perhaps not. I held in my hand more money than I'd ever held previously, a sum I would once have considered a small fortune, and it all seemed rather humdrum. Of course, I left the bank and immediately tried to recall how to walk like someone who wasn't carrying a large quantity of cash in an envelope in a pocket. I may have well have stuck a sign on my back reading "Mug Me!" for all the success I had. Luckily it's only a short saunter from the bank to my flat, so potential muggers had scant time to organise themselves.

Darren The Plumber (my life has become a series of childrens television shows. Besides Darren The Plumber, there's Gavin The Joiner, Tom The Builder, David The Electrician and Brydon The Plasterer. The lack of alliteration is a little disappointing, admittedly) told me today my flat has taken up some 208 plumber-hours thus far (plumber-hours are just like man-hours except they cost more). I could see the disbelief in his eyes even has he quoted the figure to me, his expression asking where the time went (it's a familiar expression, I've spied it in mirrors with increasing frequency). He seemed to like what I've done with the place (or what he's done with the place under my instructions, if you're being picky), which I found pleasing. It's not that I need justification for what I've done, but it certainly doesn't hurt any. And I've finally arranged a plasterer (the afore mentioned Brydon) and he's due a week on Thursday. Thursday's seem to be my lucky day for flat related stuff. I had the bedroom delivered yesterday, the bedroom fitting next Thursday, the plastering the Thursday after that, and gods willing, the return of the decorator on the Thursday next. Unlike Arthur Dent, I may finally have gotten the hang of Thursdays.