The Great British Workman

Being able to look at something, suck your teeth and scratch an intimate part of your anatomy before delivering the verdict, "Well, it isn't working properly" is a skill taught to all tradesmen when faced with the blindingly obvious. (When was the last time you called a tradesman in just to look at something fully functioning and admire its successful operation, by the way?) Along with all workmen's tea/coffee requiring two sugars or more, teeth-sucking, scratching and stating the obvious are clichés concerning workmen that are disconcertingly true...

6'4" of lanky, aging hippy, complete with Grateful Dead bandana, arrived this morning to fix my shower door. Since I arrived at my new abode, every joyous ablution has been sullied by a pool of water making its egress from the bottom of the shower, to form a slippery pool that spreads across the bathroom floor. Oddly, he removed his shoes before entering the flat - I'm fairly sure it has never been a temple or mosque at any time so I was curious as to why, but decided it was probably best not to mention it...

After a good few minutes of looking at the shower door - no actual touching of it (perhaps they hadn't been formally introduced, or it maybe seemed shy?) he sprang into action, "I'll go get my gun..." He left me standing by the door feeling more than a little perplexed and alarmed.

Some strange images flitted through my head: are lanky hippies licensed to bear arms? Doesn't it go against some great karmic code to inflict harm? Would threatening the shower door make it
behave itself better? My mind - and not for the first time - boggled. I was of course relieved to see him return with nothing more threatening than a tube of silicone - with which he set-to in a fashion best described as an enthusiastic bodge.

For more than fifteen minutes he prodded, poked and squeezed at my shower door while sitting cross-legged on my damp floor. Without so much as a trickle of water to test it, he sprang from the ground in one smooth motion and declared it fixed. Stopping only to slip his feet into his shoes, he left with unnerving rapidity.

As yet, I am unable to tell whether or not the shower door is now fully functioning and admirable - the silicone needs at least another hour to set before I can risk running water over it. Thankfully the weather is now less oppressively hot and so my simple lust to be washed clean isn't as urgent as it might have been were it warmer. Nevertheless, I am still keen to discover if the holistic diagnosis of the fault and it's enthusiastic siliconing as remedy has worked.

However interestingly presented, the aging hippy was indeed still very much a British tradesman - as such, my faith in his ability to successfully administer a repair is therefore subject to some skepticism. It certainly made for an interesting morning. Well, interesting-ish. You'd certainly find it interesting if it were your shower door, I'm sure...

Umm.

I think I need to get out more...