Getting on with the job of ageing well

IN my maturity and wisdom I have come to realise that in having a workman come into your house, you are entering a uniquely intimate situation.

I suppose I might be advised to employ the word ‘ workperson’ but in truth all house- related projects we have had done to date have been executed by men hence them being my only point of reference in this respect. That is quite interesting actually. There might even be an article in it but we’ll leave that for another day.

Anyway back to my intimate relationship with workmen. Quite frankly they come too soon.

In the interest of clarification, I am talking about their timekeeping here and their tendency to arrive very early in the morning. Now I am not complaining. To the contrary, I am delighted with their work ethic, precision and attention to detail. I am delighted too with their patient consideration of the dog who just wants to hang out with them; all the time. We got lucky, they are a particularly nice crew of workmen and the whole endeavour is going well. However there is one casualty – my vanity. Having any builder, painter or work-person in, is a bit like agreeing to be the subject of a flyon-the-wall documentary. They get to see things that usually only belong to you and though the builders have their world and we have ours, we all know we have a foot in both for the duration of the work.

Although my kids are young adults now, I still follow the same morning routine I have had since they first started school. I get up with them, share breakfast with them, dole out money to them and sign forms for them. I don’t quite make their lunches anymore because they like to do their own but I am with them for the chat before the day separates us all. The one thing I don’t do is dress. I am robed of course but still naked of my usual armour. It is only after everyone leaves and the house is brought to order that my own ablutions and dressage commence. It’s a routine that works well around my own work commitments but as it turns out not so well around those of the builders.

You see they like to talk to us in the morning; those inevitable discussions around logistics, snags and timelines. They like to capture us before the day takes us too. So whilst himself is invariably bedecked in his suit looking the business, yours truly is in relative undress looking bedraggled.

I could change up my routine for the duration of the work but, you know, I don’t. I could be either insulted or complimented by their occasional double-take when I emerge dressed and painted but, you know, I am neither. Because in all my maturity and wisdom I have come to realise that whilst my vanity is alive and well, there are times, thank God, when I just don’t care.