Recurring Dream 3

I awoke pondering last night’s handiwork: Hanger Lane gyratory system made from Wickes kitchen units. What would Freud have made of it all?

© Andy Daly  2010

Recurring Dream 2

 Last night: Tower Bridge using surplus IKEA parts.

© Andy Daly  2010

Recurring Dream

I am concerned. I had another strange dream last night, in which I had to make another life size version of a popular London landmark. This time  it was the Hoover building using flatpack components from boxes marked MFI!

© Andy Daly  2010

A strange dream. What does it mean?

last night I had a dream  that I had to build a life sized replica of the Neasden Hindu temple from a flatpack furniture components.

© Andy Daly  2010

Gas Man’s Crack

I give this to you as an example of the surreal world I currently inhabit.

The gas suppliers are updating and replacing pipework to houses in the area. The builders are all in the kitchen incidentally. A few seconds ago I am sitting here at the pc (from  which you can see the understairs cupboard – this houses the meter, supplied by the  pipe which enters the property, running beneath the front door )

Without a word of introduction, tap on the door or ring of  the bell, a young, slightly porky superviser (he obviously hasn’t seen me) has entered the house and bent down to inspect the pipe – giving me a front row view of his hairy muckspreader!… God give me strength!

Oh  Fuck! Now the electrician and ‘Clumsy Tony’ have arrived… Must dash and get anything breakable out of  his path.

© Andy Daly  2009

The Builders 2

Because of this blessed extension we’re having built: trees, cards, decorations, presents, Yuletide glow (whatever that is) Peace and Goodwill to all men – in fact all things Christmas were last on our minds. Hence the presents: my two sons a tyre pressure gauge and 1½ litres of Castrol GTX and my wife, 8 kilos of barbeque briquettes respectively were all I could find in the last shop open at 12:45am Christmas morning: the local filling station.

After weeks of feeling like unwelcome visitors in our own home as troops of Irish brickies, plasterers, Polish and Lithuanian labourers, hyperactive roofers and plumbers with Tourette’s wandered around clutching endless cups of tea, looking quizzically at us when we cast disapproving eyes over unnecessary dirty foot and hand prints, breaking our mugs and their wind, Christmas, however brief, meant a bit of respite.

I was dreading their return!

Today the kitchen is being fitted: so far casualties include the fridge door handle (Tony: “I hardly touched it “) The new hob (cracked) and my son, at home too ill to go to school, and who is now in addition bordering on hypothermia – why don’t they ever shut the fucking doors?

Then there’s “Foxy”,  Tony’s alter ego who has spent the last 40 minutes looking for his glasses. (I found them in a bucket of filthy water in the old kitchen!) and the hyperactive plumber with Tourette’s (“Where’s me fuckin’ spanner?”) He has just (thankfully) had it pointed out to him that he has connected the cold to hot and vice versa on the kitchen sink.

God give me strength.

© Andy Daly  2009