Trevor has made reference to the Bullrushes development, so now meet an inhabitant .....
As Hake on Spinach was home to several very grand properties, so indeed it had also recently acquired a development of what were described in the sales literature as superbly appointed but modest executive-style homes. There were however as far as it is possible to judge these things, no modest executives living therein.
In the master bedroom of Number 5, The Bullrushes, Neville Martin Painswick rolled over to silence the irrepressible alarm clock beside him and was positively dazzled by the shafts of brilliant early morning sunshine which pierced the carelessly closed flimsy floral curtains. His wife, Donna, had insisted on fully co-ordinated furnishings and the resultant effect made Neville feel as if he slept in a frilled, floral display case with authentically leaded bow window. It was difficult to tell where the soft furnishings ended and the wallpaper began, but he did notice as he lay there that the contrasting border running around the top of the wall was slightly torn and that he would have to attend to that and the small crack in the ceiling before it was seized upon by his wife – after all, it had only been decorated two months ago. He sighed heavily and wondered how he had been persuaded to move to the thoughtfully designed yet affordable luxury of The Bullrushes which sympathetically reflected the idyllic surrounding countryside. He had been perfectly happy in their terraced house in the centre of Great Roach – within walking distance of several good local hostelries, two curry houses, a chip shop and every amenity he ever really needed.
He realised they would need more room with their first baby expected in six month’s time, and supposed that he gave in far too easily because Donna was pregnant and he didn’t like to argue with her. She was at this moment retching in the en suite bathroom and he did experience pangs of sympathy for her.
She came back to bed looking very pale in her oyster silk nightdress and Neville stroked her head.
“Never mind, love. It won’t last for much longer. Can I get you anything?”
“No thanks – I’ll just stay in bed ‘til I feel less queasy. It’s my day off. Will you be home for lunch?
“I’ll take sandwiches today as I’ve got Mr Lamington-Krill’s Jensen in for a major service and I think Colonel Whipstock is bringing in his Bristol for me to look at – had a bit of a prang in the car park of the Startled Partridge. Don’t worry, I’ll make them before I go.” With this, Neville Martin Painswick got out of bed, gently pulled the valanced duvet up to cover his wife and padded into the en suite bathroom in his boxer shorts to make preparations for his day.
Having made himself beef paste and tomato sandwiches, Neville located his newly -laundered overalls in the airing cupboard on the landing, looked in on Donna (now sleeping), then went noiselessly downstairs so as not to disturb her. He cringed as one of the treads creaked loudly and thought to himself that for a new house, this one was not very well finished and that no-one seemed to take a pride in their work any more. He took enormous pride in his work, which was why he had such a surprisingly prestigious clientele and never any shortage of work.
As if to compound these irritations, he had to pull the neo-Georgian front door to quite sharply as it had never been a perfect fit from the day they moved in. The hanging baskets either side of the porch swayed gently as he made his exit and got into his car parked on the paved drive. His workshop was about 10 miles away in a fairly dilapidated light industrial unit in a farmyard and Donna had often urged him to consider moving premises to somewhere ‘more fitting’ – meaning light, bright, modern and expensive – but Neville was content in his rural surroundings and had no intention of moving.
Tomorrow we'll go to work with Neville Martin. More fun than lunch? We'll see.