Meet Mrs Donna Painswick as she prepares to leave for work

Donna Painswick zipped up her pastel pink overall, which was inevitably tighter with every passing day and it occurred to her that she should approach the management of Follicles regarding provision of maternity wear, as she intended to continue in her position as senior manicurist and facial therapist for as long as practicable. She aimed to finalise payments on their leather and mahogany three piece suite upon which she had insisted for Number 5 The Bullrushes. The old velour suite just wouldn’t have looked right in the practically proportioned yet airy sitting room, and because they were on special offer, it seemed only sensible to install a wide screen, slim line, low distortion television with integral movie-quality speakers, for which she also intended to conclude payments before becoming a full time mother.

She checked her hair and make-up in the bathroom mirror and looking at the crack which ran behind it, sighed heavily - Neville really did need to pay more attention to the house. A spray of ‘A Day in the Life’ (which no longer prompted nausea) completed her preparations, and she duly left Number 5, The Bullrushes, having to slam the front door hard, and caught the bus into Herring le Parterre, where Follicles had its main branch in the charming seventeenth century high street.

Donna checked her appointment diary having taken off her jacket and smiled as she noted that Mrs Penelope D’arville was booked in for 9.30 for a full facial, manicure and pedicure. She always gave generous tips.
“Is Shirley in today?” Donna asked Mandy. Shirley owned Follicles.
“I think she’s coming in this afternoon. She said she had to go to Dean’s school this morning – he’s being picked on. Didn’t think they allowed that sort of thing in expensive places like that, and I thought he could handle himself anyway.”
“I think my little one will be going to the local somehow unless Neville ever gets his act together,” remarked Donna wistfully. “Anyhow, have you got many in the diary for today? Did you see that thing on the telly last night….” And so the conversation continued aimlessly.

Ever more scent filled the air as the day’s beautification progressed, sometimes conversation flowed, sometimes it did not and at 4.30p.m. having bid the redoubtable Mrs Olga Arkenplank a cheery farewell after a somewhat challenging manicure (which she felt essential for attending her grandson’s christening), Donna approached Shirley who was attending to the accounts at her desk in an oak-beamed alcove.
“Er, excuse me Shirley, may I have a quick word?”
“Just a moment Donna and I’ll be with you,” said Shirley as she ran her finger down a column of figures. It occurred to Donna as she observed Shirley’s bowed head that she really should get her roots done. Having concluded her addition, Shirley looked up over her rimless spectacles and smiled at Donna.
“Yes, my dear, what can I do for you?”
“Well, you know I’m pregnant. It’s just that my overall is getting a bit tight and I wondered if I could get something well, a bit more maternity, really,” said Donna rather uncertainly.
“Ah, yes, we’ll have to have a squint at the workwear catalogue – can’t have you bursting at the seams. I’ll look it out and you can choose something suitable. Is that alright?”
“Yes, thanks very much Shirley. Oh, and, um I was sorry to hear that Dean’s not happy at school – it must be a worry.”
“They are a bunch of complete incompetents at St Herripole’s and I intend to find somewhere a bit less stuffy. He’s obviously too lively for them. Hah, call themselves an educational establishment. I told the head just what I thought of him and his school and if he can’t do what I thought I was paying them to do, then I’ll pay someone else. I’m going to look round the Arthur Trenchwarren Foundation tomorrow – I think he’d fit in well there. You’ve got all this to come of course, haven’t you?”
“It seems a long way off. Ah, here’s Mrs Dawlish for her facial. Thank you Shirley.”
“No problem.”

Sitting on the bus home to The Bullrushes, Donna Painswick considered the future and smiled as she pictured the nursery (which was yet to be suitably decorated) and all the trappings of new motherhood. The state of the art pushchair would just about fit in under the stairs, although Neville would have to get rid of all his motoring magazines currently residing therein. And he really would have to attend to the cracks and squeaks at Number 5 – she wanted it all to be perfect. As she stepped from the bus she hummed quietly in the early evening sunshine as she strolled home.
Donna Painswick inserted her key in the front door lock but before she opened it, her attention was caught by a fairly sizeable gap between the door frame and the brickwork. She was sure it hadn’t been there that morning. She waved to Hazel and Barry Levinson whom she saw were gardening next door at Number 3, and invited them to come and have a look at the door frame. After lengthy conversation during which Barry returned to his trowel, it transpired that the Levinsons were having similar problems with their house (although Donna and Neville had opted for ‘The Everglade’ whilst the Levinsons chose the rather more basic and less roomy ‘Riverbank’ which did not have feature stonework to the front façade). Hazel also informed Donna that the Durcastles at Number 8 had mentioned difficulty with their panoramic sliding patio doors and that the dog had narrowly missed having a length of guttering land on it only last weekend.
“D’you think we should contact the builder, after all, the houses are brand new and meant to be guaranteed, aren’t they,” said Donna. “We should get the men to give them a ring, after all, it’s their sort of thing isn’t it?”

Barry was duly summoned and was forced to agree that maybe it was time somebody brought the less than satisfactory standard of their homes to the builder’s attention. Donna said she would send Neville round later to discuss it. She would probably have to go to bed as she got very tired in the evenings, what with work and everything. Donna then shouldered the front door open, sending the hanging baskets swaying wildly, and once inside took off her shoes, putting them in the rack placed strategically beside the front door, and with relief slipped puffy feet into her exuberant sequinned slippers. She scuffed her way into the kitchen, opened the freezer door and withdrew two authentic Taiwanese fish suppers which could be prepared in the microwave in ten minutes. It had been recommended that she eat plenty of fish, thus a trip to the fish section of the local Supa Savas high quality, low price superstore became inevitable. They did not cut corners, only prices apparently.

Tomorrow we will see how Mr Painswick's day develops