The Methodical Carpenter sensationally returned!!!

“I wouldn’t have left you in the lurch,” he explained. “I’ll finish off your job here then go my own way.”

I was glad, and not just because his absence had threatened to make us homeless. Despite his spiky character, I liked the chap, and was fond of his carpentry. He buzzed away at his saw, only occasionally wincing at the electrical burns on his hands.

I left the site, all well with the world.

Less than twenty-four hours later Short Tony was on the phone to me.

“I thought you might like to know,” he began, in that tone of voice that inevitably precedes information that one would like not to know, “there is an ambulance and a paramedic’s car outside your cottage.”

I knew who the casualty would be. My stomach experienced that horrible, desperate sinking feeling, like when you get out of the bath all beautifully clean and fresh ready for your date with sexy TV actress Zoe Telford only to realise that you really, really need a poo and it is likely to be a smeary one. I got in the car and sped over there.

The Methodical Carpenter had been hospitalised after a horrible testicular accident. He would not be returning to work.

Really homeless this time.