I happened to be up and about at around ten.

My mobile rang with an unknown number but I answered it anyway. It was the bloke who is supposed to be calling here at eleven to measure up our windows for blinds. His problem was one that doesn’t surprise me – the fact that our townland has two different spellings The vast majority of us use an “o” in the name but the Ordnance Survey uses an “a” sometimes so therefore leading to a dash of ambiguity. My caller wanted to know which of the townlands I lived in, despite having my post code and the fact that “both” townlands are in the same place. I assured him that if he ignored the townland name he’d be grand.

Then VGF turned up early and parked across outside our gate as she always does. This could pose a problem as there is nowhere else to park when visiting our gaff.

Sore enough, the phone rang again. My new found friend wanted to know if we were part of the new-build [I wasn’t sure what the fuck he meant by that] so I asked where he was at present. Apparently he had found the lane and was lost [in a small lane?]. I explained that he was within spitting distance and on the right track, literally. I also mentioned that our gate was already blocked and he would have to find somewhere else to park.

I was sending off a few emails at the time on the laptop, so I switched to the CCTV view. I watched a large white van with the company name emblazoned drive very slowly up the lane past our gate. A couple of minutes later it crawled back down again. I thought I had better go out and rescue the driver. Sure enough he parked right at the end of the lane in a spot which would make the road very dangerous as he was not only parked at the junction but also on a blind bend. I shrugged. Not my problem.

A bloke carefully exited the van. He was ancient. Now at my age, everyone is young but this bloke looked about ten years older than me. I told him he was at the right place and he wheezed a bit while he caught his breath. He then proceeded to adorn himself with a large case, a telescopic ruling rod, a small step ladder and a notebook. He wheezed his way up the lane. Frankly I didn’t know if he was going to make it to the Manor as the wheezing got progressively worse.

In the Manor he met with VGF who of course knew him [this is Ireland after all]. So they chatted for a while while he caught his breath between wheezing and coughing.

So he measured up the place while I followed him around in case he dropped dead. One can’t be too careful with old folk?

After he left I made some comment or other to VGF about his breathing and how worried I was.

“Ah he’s grand. It’s just that he probably got through about forty or fifty fags before coming here.”

Fair play to him.