What a pleasure it has been to have workmen digging up my street. No, seriously. I want to pay tribute to British Gas and Morrison and all the other contractors who have been tunnelling into my home, tearing out shrubs and ripping up floorboards in order to lay horrible-looking pipes attached to huge and hideous new gas meters.
Normally, of course, I would complain gustily about the fact that I have been mired in the most colossal inconvenience, bereft of gas for hours on end, subjected to endless drilling and digging, day after day for weeks.
But it has been an absolute pleasure, every minute of it. And do you know why? Because of the abundance of real men it has brought along. I can’t remember the last time I encountered a real man, never mind a street full of them and never mind my street full of them.
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