I have been up in the roof, treating timbers.
Had I been feeling more excitable today, I might have started this post thus:
My joists are riddled with woodworm!!!
But I’m knackered. It’s hot and stifling up there. Too tight to pay for a proper woodworm person, and feeling slightly emasculated at my minimal contribution to the building work so far, I decided to Do It Myself.
The can of Woodworm Stuff had various alarming messages on it. “Use only in well-ventilated areas” being the most problematical. In the end I also bought an exciting-looking mask, that claims to protect me from fumes and hazardous particles.
There surely must be an interesting use for this, once my mundane chores are over.
The next time I get the bus into Fakenham I will carry it with me, in case of ricin attack.
Confusingly, the Stuff also claims to be “bat friendly”. I don’t know much about bats, but I would imagine that our respiratory systems aren’t that different. So what am I doing struggling up the ladder attired as Bill Murray in Ghostbusters?
The fact is that I am better with words than with worms. I feel good about getting the job done, but I have to accept that a proper woodworm person would have finished in a quarter of the time. Nor would he have kicked the pot of treatment over.
But it’s done, and I’m off for a shower.
If you listen hard enough, you can hear the sound of a thousand woodworm croaking their last.