Well the tiler came, the tiler saw, the tiler asked many awkward questions (staggered or straight? Size of gap? Colour of grout? ... for the love of God man I don’t know, just stick the tiles to the ground!!) and somehow we muddled through. Luckily the weather held off because the poor bloke was both terrified of Red and also massively allergic to dogs in general, so our house must have been a living nightmare for him. Anyway, as the sun stayed out, we were able to leave the dogs in the garden all day which Harry took as license to cook himself, and Red took as license to sulk. We had one tiny bone of contention with the tiler, and that was around the hallway, which he had included in the quote when I phoned him and had therefore massively underestimated the work needed to finish it. Turned out he hadn’t the time to do the job during the three days he availed himself of our hospitality, but very kindly offered to wave the “clearing up fee” instead.
Hold up - records scratch to a halt, piano players close the lid and scarper, darts halt in mid air - the, errr, clearing up fee? And what would that be then? Turns out the poor little pickle has to pay to get rid of the rubbish he generates on a job, but rather than leave it for us to take to the tip, he was willing to take it with him when he left. Right, so if you go to a restaurant and pay for your dinner, at what point do you generally discuss the “washing up fee” then? No? Didn’t think so. Keith being Keith dealt admirably with the situation while I foamed at the mouth from the safe distance of the office and the tiler both cleared up his rubbish *and* gave us money off the bill.
As a parting gift though, he reminded us that once the grout had gone off, we would need to spend a while washing down the tiles to get rid of that nasty white film that appears. This being Friday, I earmarked Saturday morning for the job which would still give me the afternoon to bake some cakes for the village fair and for us to get the furniture back in the lounge in time for the evening.
Hold up - records scratch to a halt, piano players close the lid and scarper, darts halt in mid air - the, errr, clearing up fee? And what would that be then? Turns out the poor little pickle has to pay to get rid of the rubbish he generates on a job, but rather than leave it for us to take to the tip, he was willing to take it with him when he left. Right, so if you go to a restaurant and pay for your dinner, at what point do you generally discuss the “washing up fee” then? No? Didn’t think so. Keith being Keith dealt admirably with the situation while I foamed at the mouth from the safe distance of the office and the tiler both cleared up his rubbish *and* gave us money off the bill.
As a parting gift though, he reminded us that once the grout had gone off, we would need to spend a while washing down the tiles to get rid of that nasty white film that appears. This being Friday, I earmarked Saturday morning for the job which would still give me the afternoon to bake some cakes for the village fair and for us to get the furniture back in the lounge in time for the evening.Turns out that was a bit of an error on my part. I stopped counting after the 8th time I went over the floor, and made the decision as day slowly turned to night that any white film still remaining would just have to come off in its own good time.
We are currently still sporting the minimalist look to the lounge, with sofa cushions on the floor and the TV in the corner because none of our friends have been able to make it over in the last week. One, who shall remain nameless, failed to appear due to a slight run in with the good men of the local constabulary after he decided to take his light aircraft out for a spin and then held an impromptu red arrows audition. Local residents were less than amused apparently.
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