Of Backs and Monkeys

Meet Fred. He’s not particularly big, a mere gibbon of a monkey, but he’s almost the oldest. Every so often he clambers over the others to whisper and giggle in my ear about that tap I bought. The one that was a wall mount when I meant to get a tub mount? That one, the one I bought three years ago and have ever since been meaning to replace? Doubt they’ll take it back now, probably discontinued. Won’t be able to get one which matches the one of the basin now. Not that anyone notices, well except for LL who dramatically sigh’s about it every so often.

Then there’s George, he’s a bit hefty, takes a lot of feeding George. George is definitely a chimpanzee. He’s not there all the time, but has been coming and going for a long long time. He’s back at the moment, chortling about that annual insurance renewal. The one that’s gone up 30%. Definitely time to get some alternative quotes says George. Then he pounds my back and has a good old laugh when I don’t have the time.

Good old Henry though. Henry’s been there longer than any of them. He’s so tiny he probably constitutes a lemur, but he causes a lot of guilt does Henry. He doesn’t come out much, probably because the job he’s there to laugh about is in the back room. The one where we store all the junk. There’s a bit of rising damp back there and I know I have to figure out what the cause is and sort it. I have a nasty suspicion about that, which is probably why I don’t check it out. If its what I think I don’t want to imagine what the cost to sort it would be. Henry whispered about it this weekend when I was cleaning a gutter near there (that’s a clue by the way). Didn’t check it out though, that would take a specialist with all sorts of gear.

I think I’m going to get to say goodbye to Bob though.. He’s a big old primate, a gorilla that guffaws every morning when I leave the house. See, we’ve got this porch over the front door. We’d had it replaced shortly after moving in and that particular builder was of the conscientious type. The porch was well built and the ceiling over the door had been finished in a lovely varnished hardwood marine ply. Looked really nice it did.

Some years ago we had the gutters replaced and for reasons I never could get to the bottom of, that builder painted the ceiling white. I almost don’t want to know why as he’d only have done that to hide something (he was that sort of builder, a story for another day). Problem was, he didn’t use a proper outdoor paint (we think anyway). It very quickly began to grow a rather ugly black mould. I’ve known I had to go out there, clean it off and repaint it. Bob shouted at me every morning I went out the door and pointed up at the ceiling.

This weekend I washed it off, got it prepped for painting it next weekend. Bob’s in a sulk, he didn’t do anything this morning. Not even a little chortle. I hate to think what he’ll get up to if I don’t get the job done next weekend though. Mind you, I’ll barely notice he’s gone there’s so many others up there clambering for attention.

So, what monkey’s are there on your back? Do you have so many, as I do, that you name and categorise them? It’s a nice displacement activity to do rather than actually finish off that list of jobs.

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