Sometimes doing it youself can be a mistake, as this pensioner discovered.

Anyone familiar with the work of Flanders and Swann will recognise this piece, which I have extrapolated from one of my favourite songs. Thank you both. I trust that you will look upon this work favourably.

Well it was my own fault, I was sitting with a cup of tea and looking at the skirting board and I thought that it could do with a coat of paint, just to brighten it up. This came to mind because I had been rummaging in the under-stairs cupboard for something and discovered some gloss paint, brushes, turps, etc. and thought "Ah, that's where they are."

Sometimes it would be better if things stayed "lost." But I didn't know that at the time. So, there I sat with a cuppa and thought it was a good idea to paint the skirting board. So I finished the tea and prepared to start work. I found some sandpaper, sanded down, wiped over, painted and made the whole skirting board bright and shiny. I was pleased with the result and sat down to dinner quite content.

Then I noticed the gas tap. Now it has always been there, it didn't just suddenly appear, but I had "forgotten" about it. You know what I mean, when was the last time you really noticed the wall socket or the light switch? They are just there, you take them for granted. So, the gas tap. Now I didn't need it right now, in May I don't use the gas fire but, come October, I am partial to a little warmth in the lounge, aren't we all? So, after dinner, I decided to turn it on, just to check it, you know. Well, it's as well I did as otherwise I would have been cold come October. It was painted shut. Fool, idiot, nincompoop! I tried to turn it but my wrists are not as strong as they were fifty years ago. I have a clever little device for jar lids as they sometimes defeat me, but this didn't help with the damn gas tap.

There was only one option open, phone the gas board. So, early Saturday morning I got on the phone and spoke to a charming young lady and explained my predicament. "Don't you worry Mr. Flanson, we'll fix it for you. One of our engineers will call on Monday morning. Will that be alright?" Monday was fine by me, I had nothing planned and a visit from the gasman would make a nice diversion to my daily routine.

So, it was on the Monday morning that the gasman came to call. He tutted and muttered and told me off for painting the tap over. Well, I did deserve it and had apologised to him. However he then set about "checking out the system" and ended up pulling out most of the skirting boards whilst looking for the mains. By the time he had finished the place looked as though it had been bombed. Off he went, saying that the gas system was fine and he was kind enough to give me the name of a good carpenter who could fix the skirting boards.

Well, it all makes work for the working man to do, so I rang the fellow and he promised to be round the next day. A very amenable fellow, I thought.

He came in about eleven and I made us tea and got out some biscuits. He had a look at the work and set to with hammer and chisel. There was some banging and sawing whilst I got on with the washing up and preparing some lunch and dinner. Then he came through to the kitchen, looking slightly sorry and he told me that, unfortunately, I had some areas of dry rot in the floor. But, not to worry, he'd soon put it to rights. He went off in his van and returned later with some 'special' chemicals and treated the area. "That should see you good again. Now, I'll finish fitting the skirting and we'll be done and dusted." A very nice fellow, that carpenter.

Then he put a nail through a cable and all the electrics went off! "I'll check the fuse box, Mr. Flanson. Don't you worry, I know a good electrician if you need one. Now then where are we? You're mains are fine but I think your lighting circuit is broken. Look, this will run the plugs and that but your main lights won't work. Here's Bob's number, give him a bell and I'm sure he will be happy to help out."

So I rang Bob who had a word with Fred, the carpenter, who explained the problem. Then Fred passed the phone to me and Bob agreed to call round on Wednesday. "It shouldn't take long to get your lights back on, Mr. Flanson. I'll see you about ten, that O.K?"

Ten o'clock on the dot the door bell rang. Outside, in the street, was a smart little van with Bob Allantyne, Electrician, emblazoned on the side. I welcomed Bob to my home and showed him where the fuse box was. Because he was a short man he needed to get up on the step ladder to reach the fuse box. He found the broken wires, made the repair, replaced the skirting board and said all was well. Then he got on the ladder again to reset the fuses. That was when he slipped and put his foot through the window. I was in the lounge at the time, just checking the skirting board and thinking about getting it re-painted when I heard the tinkling sound of breaking glass. I knew there was trouble before Bob appeared, looking duly sheepish, to confess that he had broken the landing window. However he did know a galzier who could probably sort out the problem. At least the weather forecast was good! I rang his friend.

Thus it was that the glazier called on Thursday afternoon. He measured the frame and said he'd be back in "Just a jiffy." As good as his word he was only gone for about thirty minutes and he returned with a new pane of glass. He went upstairs and set about with his blowtorch, putty and glass, whistling a happy little tune as he puttied the new window into the frame. "All done Mr. Flanson, come and take a look. As good as new, even if I say so myself."

True to his word the window was looking good and he had done a good job. Unfortunately he had also made dirty marks on the wall and woodwork and I really needed to call in a painter. Luckily Bob knew a good decorator, so I gave Jack a ring. "No problem, Sir, I can call in tomorrow. What needs doing? ... No problem, I'll see you about nine o'clock, O.K?"

Friday morning it was that the painter came to call. He set about with brushes and paint and in no time at all he had painted everything, undercoat, overcoat, skirting boards, walls and all. I was very happy with his work and complimented him on his proficiency. We sat down to tea and biscuits and discussed the local football team's chances in the new season. Then off went Jack and I set about preparing dinner.  

When I sat down to eat I was quite pleased with the general workmanship and thought that it was nice to have visitors but it was also nice to get the house back to myself. I finished dinner and went to sit down when a thought struck me.
 
The gas tap. Was it working? Well, best to check it out, after all that was the start of all the fun and games. So I went over to the fire and turned on the gas. Only I couldn't. The gas tap was painted shut. I tried, several times, to shift it but no, it was solid.

Thus it was Saturday that I rang the gas board and explained my problem. I spoke with a young man this time and gave him my tale of woe. He explained that the gas men do not come out on Saturday or Sunday and so; it was on the Monday morning that the gas man came to call.