I had a man-job I’d been putting off for several weeks, which I promised I’d knock off the list yesterday.
I was the picture of manliness as I stood at the bottom of my 3-section ladder, tool-belt on, and gazed upon my dilapidated TV aerial. I continued with great masculinity to climb the ladder and then transfer to the roof-ladder. At the top, my manliness wavered as a slight breeze caused a little wobble in my legs as I leant across to snip the heavily corroded wire that was barely holding the aging aerial to the corner of my chimney.
Looking, I imagine, like Chuck Norris, I descended the ladders with the old aerial over my shoulder. Step one complete; manliness intact.
I proceed to climb again, this time taking the corner bracket and lashing kit with me. Upon reaching the top I crouched to assess the situation. The wind had picked up slightly and mounting the replacement bracket was going to require reaching around a rather large chimney stack, which could not be done from the relative safety of my roof ladder. I pondered.
I placed a foot on the roof and it moved. The roof was, in places, covered in a fine layer of green, slippy stuff. I looked at my neighbour’s dormer and wondered if it would take my weight; it would allow me to work on one corner. I decided against it. We’re new to the neighbourhood and falling into their daughter’s bedroom would not be a good move. Anyway, it wouldn’t help me secure the bracket itself, which was on the opposite side of the roof.
With my father looking up, in my eyes disapprovingly, from the garden below, my manliness was overcome with images of my wife and 3 young children growing up without their father (but a mortgage-free home).
That was it, any resemblance to manliness evaporated. I unsteadily climbed down and declared to my father, ‘It can’t be done! Has wifey called an aerial fitter yet?’