Theres a chance that I may have been slightly naughty today and used a filter on the above shot; my Scotch Bonnet Chilli plant bequeathed  to me by Dr S of Welsh wales, which seems to be coming on in front of my kitchen window, in leaps and bounds. Not so on the other side of the kitchen window; the outside, where the weather plays a factor on the destruction of the house and the house plays a part in defending itself by having a decent bit of protection work provided by competent builders; not people who just don’t wash, wear ill fitting trousers, smoke shit loads of fags and hang around in the site hut until 2pm when they all fuck off to the pub, that is pretty much the antithesis of a decent builder. 

We’ve had all the back windows and doors sealed around the outside of them with “Mastic” which is the good stuff, but having had our front door sealed correctly a month ago it’s been bought to my attention that all the windows and doors to the rear need redoing as the finish seems to have been done by one of the local ravens or possibly a flock of Siskins. It’s shocking work and wouldn’t have realised it was poor had I not seen the error of the errant sealant’s ways by having a professional show us what’s meant to be done. 

So J or Q or M or whatever his name is, arrived today waking me up, and forcing my eyes to witness the sun at 8;30 when its my week off; dressed fully in Red, red shorts to sleep in, and a red t-shirt to answer the door (the world isn’t ready for an unbeach presentable and slightly tubby Count quite yet) like a man of haemoglobin. JTQ told me he was going to rake out the badly applied mastic and the Mastic Man would then come to re-apply the good stuff. He then walked back up the site to the site hut, had a few fags and some tea, before donning his smiley face to come and speak to me again. I’m sure the builders hate us just as much as I am sick of the sight of them.

Ladies and gentlemen the prize for the longest build in history goes to HCT homes, their lack of appealing bedside manner and fondness for procrastination, lying and really expensive but ultimately revolting loafers puts them firmly in the lead of the massive idiot builders league table. He sporadically appears on site, in said loafers, with a watch worth more than my annual salary and a matt black Range Rover which I dearly want to shit through the sunroof into the cabin and probably would, were I not nearing the respectability of 50. 

So B&Q or whatever he’s calling himself now has told me that the Mastic man is gone and the clearing up of the bad window sealing will take longer than he anticipated, or what he maybe meant was that this job was going to take a long time and he really would rather someone else do it. Thats what I think, but I might be barking up the wrong tree. Trees, theres another thing, when is the landscaping getting done? When do I get my honeysuckle hedge, when do I get my field maple and rowan trees? Mmm? Its on the list I think it’s safe to say.

And so finally Homebase came back with some clear sealant to make the gap around the door watertight and we wait for the Mysterious Mastic Man who is actually made of Mastic to be summoned again via the burning of spent mastic tubes in a large sealed pot full of purple paint and conkers, which when the temperature gets too hot will explode scattering conkers as hot as the sun, and as corrosive as molten lava all over the estate.

That’s the official contact number for the Mastic Man