The Tradesman's Entrance

    Two Polish electricians came today to do their rewiring stuff in the hallway. I had met the first one, cuddly Jack, before, but this morning he brought along his fresh-faced colleague, George.
   George is about twenty-five and 6ft 4 with a big barrel chest and meaty hands. He had short black hair and a short black beard. He looked like a younger, attractive version of Captain Haddock in Tin Tin. I was pleased to see that he was wearing tracksuit bottoms, which always leave nothing to the imagination, front and back: the twin globes of his perfect buttocks softly strain the fabric enclosing them. He bent slightly forward at one point to examine some wires that Jack was showing him and as I side-stepped behind him to leave the room I had the overwhelming desire to tightly grip those orbs. This urge I resisted, however.
   I offered them a cup of coffee on their arrival, which they gratefully accepted. I gave Jack the red mug. I gave George the black mug, to match his beard, and as I lovingly delivered two big spoonfuls of sugar into it, and stirred, I looked forward to drinking from it, unwashed, into the coming days. 
    To keep out of their way I repaired to my bedroom to read, with the door open. I could hear the gentle susurration of their native tongue as Jack quietly explained the job ahead and his young colleague asked questions; it sounded like soft waves sloshing onto shingle. And then there was a brief silence: young Captain Haddock had gone into the toilet. I listened, enthralled, as, many yards away, I heard his insistent Niagra as he pounded his stream extravagantly directly into the water of the toilet bowl. It was music from Paradise.
    After half an hour, Jack had to go to another job, leaving young George to continue through the day. I kept up a regular supply of coffee for him so that over the course of the afternoon he had to make several more trips to the toilet, where his Golden Music continued to enchant. 
   At midday he tapped gently on my open bedroom door and said, smiling, "I go now outside to smoke cigarette and I will be back soon". I told him that in that case I would walk down to the shop and pick him up some lunch.
   I returned with several big turkey sandwiches. I made yet another pot of coffee and laid the sandwiches out on a plate on the kitchen table, along with some Hob Nobs and some ginger-nut biscuits. He came into the kitchen and said, "All this lunch is for me?" 
   "Yes, help yourself."
   "That is so nice! Thank." He sat down and started to tuck in to the feast. I left him to it, watching, as I went out the kitchen door, his broad shoulders rolling slightly with the action of his chewing.
    At the end of the day George bid me farewell, "I think I will need to return on tomorrow morning, but only for a few hour. Do you mind If I'm leaving tools overnight?" I said that would be perfectly alright. He said goodbye and trudged out into the weak, late afternoon sunshine. After he had gone I noticed he had left his woolly hat on the table. I picked it up and put it on and wore it for an hour as I prepared my dinner.


   

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