Hello there, sir.
A tatty looking peasant man greeted me as I opened my front door.
My side lip curled up as if the Good Lady had put pickled dill on my sandwich.
I hate being called sir. It is almost as bad as being called dear. It sets my teeth on edge as if whoever is doing it is waving their fingers at me like an arse-menacing octopus.
Yello.
I said sternly, holding onto the door jamb and swinging from it slightly like a Pirate hanging on to a mizzen-mast who has spied enemy sails on the horizon.
I was wondering if I could just have a moment of your time please sir?
Asked Peasant-Man in a strangely forlorn tone.
I cocked my head to the side and stopped swinging on the doorframe.
You already are!
I said sparkily like a penis-shaped lightbulb being fed 100 watts of the good juice.
I'm sorry?
Replied Peasant-Man, a sharp edge to his tone implying that he was not sorry in the slightest.
I breathed in deep through my majestic nostrils, so majestic were they that an ex-girlfriend had screamed in rage and tried to punch me after I dared compare the hairier left nostril to her vagina.
To this day, I am still not sure why she took it so badly. It was, after all, a compliment.
Don't be sorry, old fellow. What do you want?
Now that the foreplay was over I was tiring and keen to get on to the main act.
Peasant-Man puffed out his chest and struck an oddly formal pose before opening his mouth and singing.
We come but once a year, around here. We clean your gutters and pipes. We clean them well, we clean them well. Our clients have no gripes.
He gave a small bow then smiled expectantly.
I patted my pockets but partly because of COVID and partly because I was a tight bastard with money, I had no coppers to throw him.
Aye, very good. So what do you want?
I drew him the gimlet eye and frowned as if he had suddenly declared he was my wife and yet also a snitch for the FBI and with a sad heart I knew he would have to be taken out to the woods and whacked.
Like I just said. We clean your gutters. Look, I have a van.
He pointed over at a dirty little blue van with a depressed looking ladder attached to the top.
Ha, very good. How much is that then?
I chortled with unbridled joy that such a man had come to my house on this auspicious day.
Peasant-Man took a step back and gave my gutters an appraising look.
Forty pounds normally but today I could do it for fifty and throw in these down-guards.
He brandished a spiky plastic mesh thing at me which looked like it might have been a sieve from a Hellraiser movie.
I peered closely at the down-guard in his hand but not so close that I could catch the COVIDS.
Hmm. No thank you.
I stepped back and began to close my door.
Ok, you got me. Forty and I will throw in the down-guards for free.
He bobbed up and down as if trying to see over my shoulder. I hoped there wasn't a monster behind me.
No thank you. I will clean my own pipes.
Ever so slowly, I closed the door a little further.
We only come round here once a year!
Peasant-Man yelled in desperation.
What?
I hauled the door back open.
We only come round this area once per year! This is your only chance till next year!
Peasant-Manblurted out in a rush, his eyes shining with the potential forty doubloons he thought he could earn.
Ah, I thought that's what you said. No thanks.
I started the door closing thing again, this time making a horror movie-esque creaking noise.
Wait!
He cried.
What?
I opened my mouth to speak but before I could the Good Lady hauled the door open and shoved me rudely to the side.
We don't want any. So FUCK OFF.
She slammed the door shut almost amputating my nose.
Fucking hell, leave the poor guy alone?!
She barked and stomped off back into the nethers of the house.
I waited till she was out of sight then tugged the door open a bit and peeked out.
Peasant-Man was gone.
I sighed. Oh well, back to work I suppose.
