So we all waiting in anticipation on Saturday for the Rapture to happen and whisk us up, up and away. We had on clean underwear and shoes were polished. I didn’t have time to get a haircut but as it turned out, that didn’t matter for the Rapture didn’t happen. Although I’m sure it would have been lovely and all that, I’m kind of glad because I have rather a lot on these days. And frankly, I’m not looking my best at the moment. This comes of giving up smoking 2 weeks ago but having since eaten my bodyweight (and more) in sweeties, chocolate and ice-cream. It has not been pretty. I keep thinking it must be out of my system by now, but no, off I go again on the rampage for a little morsal to keep my occupied. As a result, I’m increasingly worried that I fall over for I fear I’d never get back up again and would lie there like a beached whale. Heh ho. If its not one thing, its the other.
Then yesterday Scotland worried if indeed the Rapture was upon us as the wind picked up and frisked the spring blossom off the trees. Small branches flew past my window all day and I heard the wheelie bin butting itself against my car. But it was the very large and heavy clunk that took me out into the maelstrom to find the tiles hurling themselves off the roof like lemmings at a cliff-top (allegedly). These are not small and dainty red rectangular tiles, by the way. These are tiles of humungous proportions. Tiles that would fell a passer-by and send her to her Maker in the blink of an eye. Tiles that are not nailed on but sit in little clips and if one goes… So, while we all enjoyed the Prepare Your Own Funeral evening, the rectory continued to spew its tiles into the car-park.
Today I met with 2 Roofing Contractors who were sent to make the roof safe and give estimates for the work. The first one said you can’t really make it secure – and he didn’t think any more would fall. And also mentioned, while sucking air in through his teeth, that you can’t get those tiles any more and you’d have to go to a reclaim yard and perhaps you might find them… perhaps not… and he’d hand in an estimate. The 2nd man stood well back, said it was really dangerous because more were ready to fall at any time, and we should rail off the car park and not let anyone walk below the roof. He thought of a number (a very low number, as it happens) and said he could do the job pretty quickly. No mention of rare tiles. He wrote this magical number on a business card in pencil and presented it to me as if it were indeed a beautifully typed out estimate suitable for an enquiring Insurance Company. When prompted to actually give a correct estimate, he said the storm and power cut had blown up his computer and it might be some time.
So there we have it. My roof has two large holes in it and the experts don’t agree. And it might take weeks to get that in writing anyway. And when I asked whether rain could get in and soak me I was told no, it would be fine because it looked like there was felt. Felt?! Felt ain’t gonna keep me dry.
When I went out to inspect the damage this morning I found out that a large chunk of our oak tree had broken off too. Poor tree. I guess I should be grateful that it didn’t come in the window. Thanks be to God.