Id needed a summerhouse on my plot, so I shunned the big contractors and thought I only required a bloke who knew the basics of building.
A neighbour sent me to his mate, a housebuilder from Birmingham, who ought to be able to erect a simple garden hut.
Fortune smiled; the man was free. He didnt want the job at first, but I managed to twist him around. He claimed he could finish it in a week, which suited me. On Saturday he promised to stop by for a lookover, and the next day hed buy every material needed.
We also talked about manpower. He said he needed an extra pair of hands straight away, then hed rope in a friend, because he had a whole crew on standby.
The catch was that Id be in London all week for work, so I couldnt be onsite during the build. I handed him the keys and told him to finish by the following weekend.
Robert Blake swore hed sort everything, insisting he was a topnotch tradesman. He asked for a proper fee for his servicesquite a sum in poundsand I agreed.
By Saturday night the summerhouse stood completed, exactly as Id imagined, and I had no complaints. Robert seemed pleased, too.
The only thing that gnawed at me was that hed cleared out my fridge. Two kilos of pork loin, a dozen eggs, several cartons of milk, sauce and a bottle of red winegone. I found his behaviour intolerable. It wasnt about the food itself; it was the fact that nobody had asked if he could help himself. Hed simply taken what wasnt his.
I tallied the cost of the vanished provisions and deducted the amount from his wages. It was merely a drop in the ocean, but it mattered to me.
Robert didnt take it kindly. He launched into a heated argument, insisting that builders are always fed on the job and that its standard practice. He added that the extra effort hed put in at various stages didnt change the final tally.
Part of me wanted to concede, yet I still held that Id honoured every term wed agreed on, and I should have been warned about any hidden expectations. The tension lingered like a storm ready to break.
