My boyfriend warned me that a man would be coming to the house between 8.00 a.m. and 1.00 p.m. to fix up a new telephone system in the house. At 8.00 I was woken by a knock on the door. On the front path outside, a man held out a large white package and said ‘BT Homehub’ and then made to leave. I said ‘Aren’t you going to set it up then?’. ‘No’, he said. ‘I’m the Postman’.
At 9.00 a.m. there was another knock on the door. For some reason workmen in Yorkshire do not ring doorbells. This man was dressed in blue overalls marked ‘BT’ and clutched a tool box. ‘Come in’ , I said. ‘Have you come to fix up the BT Homehub?’ He put down his toolbox. ‘No’, he said. ‘I know nowt about phones or computers’ and donned a white hard hat. ‘I’ve just come to drill a hole’. He then plugged in an electric drill and said ‘Where shall I put it?’ He meant the hole. I told him I had no idea. ‘I’ll put it here then’, he said and connected a two foot long drill bit.
Bert the cat managed not to run away when the loud drilling began. He stuck his ground but was obviously concerned as his tongue went in and out a lot.
A few minutes later the BT man said ‘I’ll be mostly outside now. Wit’ ladders and that’ and left the building. I am waiting inside. I have no idea what the ladders are for. It’s out of my control. I’m a woman.
My new boyfriend rang. He is a Binman. I told him the progress so far. ‘Oh that’s good’, he said. ‘Have you made him a brew?’ I admitted that this had not occurred to me. ‘Well you’ve got to! He’s a workman! He needs a brew!’. I hadn’t realised the importance of this cultural ritual. I went outside and asked the BT man if he would like a cup of tea or coffee (I didn’t have the confidence to say ‘brew’). ‘Ah no thanks’, he said. ‘What I do is… I bring wi’ me a bottle of water. I fill it up from ‘t tap on a morning so it’s not too cold like. Then I’ve got it you see. I’ve been doing it for the last 12 year. It were ‘ard at first. Everyone asks, you see. “Do you want a brew” and it were right ‘ard to say “No”. My mate, he were wi’ me t’other day like, he were sat in’t kitchen eating cake and that, but I said “No. I’ll carry on.” and I did. When the winter came round first time I went back to ‘aving like two or three a day but by ‘t time I were finished I were right dry. So, it’s just a bottle of water now for me and I’m ‘appy wi’ that.’
I shared a little inside information on Binmen. Apparently, they get a brew at certain households on their rounds. My Binman didn’t take his Bait Tin with him today because he was allocated to a round where they can be sure of a bacon sandwich and a pork pie. Who knew this? The other day I woke to the sight of the Bin Wagon parked outside my house and a group of dayglo jacketed Binmen drinking brews out of cups from my kitchen. Served by my own Binman who was ‘on the sick’ that day. It all sounds like a pleasant life until you hear that on the downside they don’t have access to toilets ‘so if they get caught short they have to take a dump in a carrier bag’ at the side of the road.
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