I AM a very lucky woman; I have a lovely home, wonderfulchildren,healthy grandchildren and a hard working husband. But every day. I crave for a man. I can hear you all taking a sharp intake of breath, the word ``strumpet'' probably isn't far from your thoughts but wait,allow me to qualify.
I don't mind what he looks like -anything from Marty Feldman to George Clooney,I care not -nor do. I want fancy conversation. He needn't be rich or drive a posh car,in fact he can turn up on a bicycle or with a handcart and that would do nicely. The only requirement I insist upon is he has a sham my leather. There you see,completely innocent, all I need is a window cleaner.
Mr Rivett did my windows for many years. He was quick and efficient and I was delighted when he took me on after many odd job men came round and cleaned my windows a couple of times before disappearing. It seemed they were all trained on the QE2 -none of them recognised a corner and I caught one of them snapping my buddlea down on my back path because he'd managed to get his ladder entangled in it.
Mr Rivett had an accident and no longer does our windows so ever since, the residents of this estate have been without.
My beloved could do them if we had a ladder but even then,he's so busy I haven't the heart to expect it of him. Every minute he has is taken up by his day job and weekend jobs; I keep saying to him he ought to start taking it easy but he finds it very difficult to refuse people. I suggested he go to assertion classes in order to learn how to say the word ``no'' as he needs as many hands as an Indian goddess to cope with all the work he takes on. There's no way I can clean them myself as the mere thought of climbing up more than three rungs of a step ladder makes me jelly-legged; I get dizzy wearing two pairs of thick socks.
I also need a gardener for a couple of hours a week. My garden,once my pride and joy, is looking a little neglected. Not so long ago a weed had only to stick up two seed-leaves before it was yanked from the soil,but now my back just won't take it. A couple of years ago I rang a ``gardener'' from a number on the wall of my local post office. I didn't tell my beloved thinking he'd be pleased that I'd saved him a job,after all it wasn't anything complicated,just cutting the privet hedge. It was pouring with rain when the young chap came and,amazed that he wanted to work on such a day. I watched as he hacked great swathes into the hedge without having the heart to stop him. He also completely ignored the bit around the pond that was left sticking up like a clump of unruly hair on a badly shaven head. He went off with a large sum of money (cash)and left me to the wrath of my beloved who was distinctly unimpressed with my bright idea and went around shaking his head and muttering under his breath until the offending boundary grew back again.
Now,he does it himself but I wish I could find someone who could take the burden off him. Many years ago,Mr Swan,an elderly man who lived close by, would come with his hand shears and spend hours cutting it. He was an old fashioned perfectionist; I loved to take Dai into the garden and weed as he snipped quietly a way. When he'd finished, the hedge was as neat as a billiard table. They don't make men like Mr Swan any more,now everything has to be fast and furious and preferably motorised or computerised.
I'm losing at least 20pc daylight but the moment it looks as if I'll just have to put up with the gloom. If there are any reliable window cleaners or gardeners working in the Conwy area perhaps you can give me a call, you can't miss my house -it's the one with the overgrown garden and the electric light permanently on.
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|Publication:||Daily Post (Liverpool, England)|
|Date:||Jan 31, 2004|
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