The Workman always rings twice

Isn't it both typical and annoying that you can never ever set a more specific date and time with a workman...? MY time is obviously not as valuable as THEIR, since one has to put a whole day on hold just to be home when they decide to call with whatever they call with.

Can you think of any other occupational group that says, well sometimes between 8 and 16, we can't be more specific...? I can't.

I can deal with, between 12-16, even better with 14-16. But what the f**k, 8 hours of a non-specific-time?? Such a total nuisance!!

I wonder how a workman keeps his appointments with a doctor, dentist or a lawyer for example. Sometimes between 8-16, can't be more specific.

So today I just sit here and basically wait for the delivery of that heat pump I'm not really sure I want or need - but Mats is a sucker for "new" technical solutions that perhaps, maybe, will save some money in the long run... The delivery is today and the installation in about for weeks.

Yes, and that's a whole other story, the installation of things. One has to act like an (unpaid) workman-assistant, keep a close eye on the cats and a close one on open doors - because obviously workmen have never ever heard of closing doors or being careful when arriving at homes with pets.

And then, of course, it's just a matter of time before the magic words are uttered... Oh, here you have a lot of cats! And then they have probably just seen two of them...

Yes, A LOT of cats, yes workman, I see you know what you're talking about here... A lot of cats it is indeed, more than one to be more specific.

I was talking to a friend about what a nuisance workmen can be and how much I'm looking forward to them invading my home - not - when it's heatpump-installation-time. She tried to comfort me and said it'll most certainly be a good-looking 25-year-old with a pinch-friendly bottom who adores cats. When the installation-work gets him all warm and sweaty he'll take off his shirt, show his breathtakingly... interesting-looking upper torso and ask for a cup of tea (preferably Yorkshire Gold) with lots of milk...

Ah, I'll try and keep that image in mind when I open the door for the 50-year-old-overweight-baldish-man-with-a-beer-gut-smelling-of-old-sweat and his tiny assistant by the name of Smeagol. Preccccciousssss.