The bloke came to look at the roof this morning.

I’ll call him Rufus, as I can never remember people’s names so I tend to rename them in a fashion I can remember.

Anyhows, within a couple of minutes I knew he was a real builder. How? Because he pointed out a load of problems I had overlooked. Aha! you say, but isn’t that the mark of a typical cowboy? Well, yes except the problems Rufus found are genuine problems. As the son of a civil engineer with experience of the building business it’s very hard to bullshit me.

So the existing sarcophagus has to be removed in its entirety, but also a bit of work needs to be done to the chimney it’s attached to. Also the television mast has to come down which isn’t a problem as it’s no longer used anyway. Though I did point out that the mast straps were probably holding the chimney together.

He is dead worried about my request to have a top opening lid. He wants to put in a side door for access but I pointed out [quite reasonably, I thought] that all work on the tank/ballcock/valves has to be accessed from above and not the side. We reached a compromise – he’s going to do it my way. That’s the kind of compromise I like.

So he has gone now with a pocket full of measurements and muttering about lead flashing. He has to work out a price. I just know it is going to be fucking expensive. Luckily I have a rainy day fund, as when that roof leaks it does indeed rain [indoors].

So why the title about skiing?

It’s because I’ll be Spending the Kids’ Inheritance, of course.