Published Messenger Newspapers, Adelaide, February 11, 2004


MY KINGDOM FOR A TRADESMAN


ROY the Tiler came around to my place last Saturday morning to repair the loose grout in the shower - two years after promising to do the job "next Tuesday". A simple task, I could have tried to fix it myself except DIY projects invariably turn into disasters in my hands, and I could not be bothered with all the grief. Roy came recommended by a friend of a friend who knew someone who knew Roy. That is the only way to find a tradesmen these days. And you still have to wait ages for one to turn up. All the same, two years seemed to be excessive. Roy said I was lucky - another customer had waited three years for him to finish paving the driveway. He arrived at 7.30am, only to find he had forgotten the keys to his toolbox, and had to return home to fetch them. As he drove off, I half-expected not to see him again for another two years ... or, even worse, to have him return unannounced. You see, Roy had once removed the salt damp from a house at Kent Town. Several months later, the owner rang to say a damp patch had reappeared in the bathroom and Roy had better come back and fix it. On Roy Time, weeks passed until, on the way to another job early one morning, he happened to pass the same Kent Town house and remembered to pop in for a look. His knock went unanswered but the back door was unlocked and Roy let himself in and went through to the bathroom. He spotted the salt damp and, head down, walked slowly around the bathroom checking for other patches. Then he noticed a pair of bare feet and looked up to see a naked man sitting on the toilet, his face frozen in horror. "Morning," Roy said cheerily, "Just checking for salt damp." And he left, never to return. Believe me, I triple-checked his estimated time of arrival at my place and made damn sure the door was bolted until I had toileted and dressed. He finished the job in a couple of hours and, for someone who usually tiled swimming pools, did a good job. Whether or not the wait was worth it is debatable. I was retelling Roy's story over Sunday lunch at a mate's newly renovated house at Unley Park. He can talk about the renovation now but not yet laugh about it. It had turned into a nightmare. Walls crumbled, ceilings collapsed and tradesmen appeared in slow-moving and alarmingly expensive numbers. The family had to vacate the house and rent elsewhere for a year. After the first 90 days of demolition and with no end in sight, the insurance company insisted someone had to spend two nights on the premises otherwise the home insurance policy would lapse. Go figure. So my mate grabbed his sleeping bag and a hard-hat and slept like a squatter amid the rubble. Strangely, his wife refused to join him. He is a lawyer but is adamant his two daughters will get apprenticeships in the building trades - electrician, plumber, bricklayer, tiler, it doesn't matter. They will be filthy rich and have untold power