Fiddler on the roof was a real cowboy

We had some leaky guttering. I searched the internet

To find someone to make repairs

And stop us getting wet. He seemed so very plausible Had ladder and some tools, Thank God we held his payment back

He treated us like fools. Ten minutes after he had left The drip returned again.

I got my trusty bucket out . . . Then it began to rain.

The water fell in torrents Filled the bucket, overflowed, If anything, it was much worse.

What did he do? Who knows . . . I rang and emailed many times

At last his van arrived, It wheezed and sputtered as it rolled Grudgingly up our drive. I showed him all the buckets

And the water dripping down.

He scratched his head and then his bum

Then shook his head and frowned.

He got his ladder off the van And shimmied up the rungs, He smacked the gutter once or twice

And then he hit his thumb.

The shouting and the curses Were an assault on our ears. He staggered down the ladder then

His eyes were red with tears. ‘I can’t do this, I’ve had enough

I’m beaten, that’s the truth. The gutters can be tricky if You’ve got tiles on your roof . . .’

He gathered up his ladder, All his tools and drove away. I didn’t pay his bill and We’ve not seen him to this day.

So if you need a ‘gutter man’ To cure the leaks and clean, Look out for him and his old van

He’s eloquent and keen, But cowboys turn up everywhere

At best, rank amateurs, You’ll always hear them coming

By the jingle of their spurs . . . Lindsay Hartgroves, Launceston, Cornwall.