Knobs

We had a new door fitted this week, between the hallway and the living room. The previous door had been plain, but the new one is glazed, and lets in the light. I had the idea to do this when we first moved into the flat, over twenty years ago, and my poor wife has been begging me to do it ever since.

The main reason it has taken me so long is my dread of home improvements. Even the idea of knocking a nail in the wall brings me out in a cold sweat. My decorating is horrible - our woodwork looks like it's got smallpox - and when I put a blind over the kitchen window, I drilled through a cable and took our electricity out. My dad was alive then, and I had to ask him to come round and fix it for us.

Nor do I like workmen coming round. You hear all these stories about cowboys making a mess of it and charging you for the privilege. Even when they're competent, there's the banging, crashing, scraping and the whine of the drill. Our cat hides behind the sofa, and to be honest I wish I could join her.

There's also the matter of his (I've never had a woman plumber /electrician /telephone engineer) personality. I'm thinking here of the norther who fitted our boiler, and who criticized my music collection at the same time.

I knew the handyman we were going to get, because my brothers -in-law recommended him. They said that he was good, reliable and wouldn't rip you off. Furthermore, he was polite and friendly. Even so, I felt on edge all the time he was there. I wanted to put on the radio or television, but began worrying about which programmes he wanted. Or would it distract him? I was glad when my wife got home -she's a lot better with people than I am.

The handyman earned his money. We’d bought a pair of beautiful crystal doorknobs, but once he fitted them he found he couldn’t close the door properly. They banged against the jamb, which the door handles had never done. So I was despatched to Homebase to buy a brand new pair of brass handles, which he then had to fit. But he did a terrific job, and the new door looks great.

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My writing has stalled. Too many projects vying for my attention. One minute I’m trying to write a novel, the next a stage play. My writers’ group have decided to put another magazine together, and the teacher is encouraging us to come up with short stories for it. John Braine wrote, in his How To Write A Novel, that when you have to choose between two story ideas, you should decide between them as you would decide between two dinner parties (i.e; you choose the one that appeals to you the most). But what if there’s a dinner party you’d like to attend but haven’t been invited to (i.e; you don’t have an idea)? And what if you don’t want to go to a particular dinner party but feel you ought to?