The words of that old song come to mind as I await the services of a builder to replace the joists and the ceiling. The size and convolutions of the termite workings were of industrial proportions and, as more and more of the muddy stuff was removed, I could only marvel at the scope of the site.
I suppose there were project managers, engineers, architects and numerous other experts at work during the construction phase, for such a complex structure would have been a nightmare if left to mere workers. Imagine termites in hard-hats directing the ‘erks’ in their labours, rolls of drawings tucked under their arms, and all in the dark. What a sight they’d have made, if only I could have watched them.
Despite the magnificence of the structure and the ant-hours expended on it, the effect of their hard work is going to cost me a packet. Determinations on the fix are expected in the next few days and I’m not holding my breath.
The day before the discovery of this extensive in-ceiling termite community, I had decided to take a trip interstate to the nearest travel agent to book flights to Malta and UK. There followed some nail-biting and knuckle-chewing while I carried out a detailed examination of the bank account. Yes, I figured I could still go visit my lovely relations while funding the builder’s superannuation.
So long as nothing expensive went wrong between now and departure day.
Sadly, I calculated without the dishwasher, which died a few short weeks later.
Not to be beaten, I pushed the airline tickets to the back of the drawer and, head held high, set about obtaining a replacement. No, before you ask. With repairs at $170 each, three strikes and it was O.U.T. out. The local bloke was able to deliver and install a new machine and cart away the carcass the very next morning! Such service was overwhelming.
With nothing much to fall apart now, I might dare to give some thought to what I’ll pack when I head off for that little chip of rock in the Mediterranean. I think I can see that far ahead now.