Sweet talker

The second kitchen story.

Terry ran out of kitchen tiles. Now, I don't want to point fingers as a lot of people were involved in the calculation. Terry originally told me how many 12x12 inch tiles I would need. The man in Homebase then calculated these into square meterage, and then I had to work out how many rectangular tiles I'd need. Somewhere along the line things went a bit pear-shaped.

So Terry had almost finished the kitchen but there were a few tiles missing, and duly, like the grown-up I was, I drove back to Loughborough (don't ask) to pick up some more tiles and bring them back home. Terry said I should call him once I'd got the tiles and he'd come round the next day and fit them. But if I didn't get them this week it would be a month, as he was off on holiday. How nice.

So, bombing (by which I mean driving at the appropriate speed limit) back down the M1, I called Terry as soon as I got home. It rang a few times, and then answered. But I was saying, "Hello, hello?" and there was no reply.

Then Terry came on the line, "I really do not want to talk to this woman at all," he joked to me. I laughed and said, "Hello Terry."

Then the line went dead. a) He hadn't realised he'd answered it and b) had then dropped my call. He didn't answer when I called back.

And I had already paid him for the work.

Who knew that one box of half-empty chocolates could cause so much trouble? Luckily, he did call back later (I didn't mention the earlier incident), did come over on Monday and did (finally!) finish the job. Although I've still no receipt for the hefty amount (of cash) I handed over to him.

Why didn't he want to speak to me? Was he ashamed of his chocolate antics? Were the chocolates not of sufficient quality? Was he aware that my flat was now a chocolate-free zone?

On Monday he did ask, "Is this cake on the counter for me?" "Of course, Terry," I replied. "I wouldn't want you to go hungry."

He didn't eat it. Which is a shame as it was injected with laxative.