The perfectionist builder I always wanted

I have a friend who is perhaps best described by that old-fashioned phrase ‘ladies’ man’. He’s not a cad or a bounder — quite the opposite, in fact. He’d never leave a lady in the lurch, or lie to her, he simply enjoys the company of women — quite a lot of women — and they seem to enjoy him too. He knows all the hottest spots in town, and somehow all the barmen and doormen too. More important, he’s a listener, and as any girl will tell you, a man who listens is a rare and miraculous thing.

But of all the cards up his sleeve, there’s one that trumps the rest: he’s friends with Artur, one of the best head builder/decorators in London, and for any home-owning thirtysomething woman, that’s catnip. Artur, like my pal, is a perfectionist — which is perhaps why they get on — and he’s not someone I’d normally have the nous to employ, but he appeared one bright autumn morning last year, sent to me and my husband by the ladies’ man to fix up my wreck of a new house, and his arrival has been a revelation.