I need a garden shed on my plot, so I decide not to call a large construction firm. I figure I only need a bloke who knows the basics of building.
A neighbour points me to his friend, a housebuilder who should be able to put together a simple garden shed.
Im lucky and the man is free. He doesnt want the job at first, but I manage to persuade him.
He says he can finish it in a week, which suits me. On Saturday he says hell stop by to have a look, and the next day hell buy all the materials needed for the build.
We also talk about labour. He says he needs an extra hand straight away and that hell find someone to work with, because he has plenty of mates.
The biggest problem is that Ill be in London all week for work, so I cant be on site during the construction. I hand him the keys until the following weekend.
James Whitaker promises hell sort everything, because hes a good tradesman. He asks for a reasonable fee for his services, which is fairly high, and I agree.
By Saturday evening the garden shed is complete. Everything looks great, exactly how I wanted it, and I have no complaints. James has no issues at this point.
The only thing I dont like is that James has eaten everything I had in the fridge two kilos of pork fillet, two dozen eggs, several cartons of milk, sauce and a bottle of red wine. That behaviour is unacceptable to me. It isnt about feeling sorry for the food; its that nobody asked me whether they could help themselves. They just helped themselves.
I calculate the cost of all the food and deduct it from his pay. Its only a drop in the bucket, but it makes a difference to me.
James doesnt take it well. He starts arguing, telling me that builders are always fed and that its normal. He adds that there were a few moments during the build when he pushed himself harder, but that doesnt change the total amount.
On the one hand I want to agree with him. On the other hand I still believe I have honoured every term we negotiated, and I should have been warned about any extra nuances.
