Blacksheep rang to tell me that the sink had been delivered but it was the wrong colour. AAGGHHH!!! they'd been sent a black one, not champagne. I'd started to get nervous about it yesterday as I'd been expecting a call on Tuesday to confirm delivery.
I asked them to do me a favour and drop me an email so I could send it on to MFI. Otherwise the IM will probably think that I never placed the order and am now stalling. They said they would, and took my email address, but no email arrived.
I rang Fitter3 and told him about the sink. He said that he would come back next Thursday then, instead of tomorrow, to start on the base units.
On a separate note, the plasterer did not come back today. He did say (plenty times) on Tuesday that he'd nip back to finish the corner today so we could paint by weekend.
I texted Fitter3 (didn't want to overdo the Hassle By Phone) to find out when the plasterer was actually going to come back and finish the corner, but there was no response.
That's it then. Sit back and wait for the sink whilst trying to manage a household using a kitchen that is mostly packed away in cardboard boxes or spread across 3 rooms.
The remaining installed worktop that is not to be replaced has been covered in plaster to the extent that it could take months to get all the bits out of the textured grain finish. Why didn't they cover it, or at least come and ask me if I wanted to cover it myself. Took me ages yesterday to clean the f*g kitchen floor, too. I could've put newspaper on it in no time if they'd said. And the windows and remaining units are all covered in f*g plaster splashes and, even worse, huge swathes of whitewash effect where they wet-wiped the splashes into the grain.
PHOTO: I should've taken more pics before I cleaned up; basically the place looked like the opening titles of Saving Private Ryan. Like the high tide had come in through the hall, washed over the kitchen and swept out down the drive again leaving a trail of debris reminiscent of Hurricane Katrina.
Personal reflection
A day of tears. If it were not for being a mother, I would have got on a train to god knows where to make it all just go away. I am so sick & tired of half-a-job harrys doing every little f*g job wrong and having to do it all over again or get it put right somehow with little or no chance of it ever being put right in any f*g case. And it's not just this kitchen. It's every f*g thing I ask any tradespeople to do. The house roof. The decorating. The wardrobes. The cleaners. The conservatory roof. The carpet fitters. The builder who moved the downstairs door. The idiot who did the chimney. I'm not bossy, maybe I'm not assertive enough. I thought that being polite and respectful to people was right and proper. Seemingly not so, because it obviously gives them carte blanche to write 'doormat' in huge invisible letters across your forehead.
Jeez I'm so fed up. I don't sleep at night because I'm too wound up. I don't perform well the following day because I have no f*g motivation left in me. I'm getting migraines, mood swings the like of which could start an international incident, and barely feel like eating anything until at least midday. Just walking into the f*g kitchen is enough to put me off food.
I'm frightened that if this misery continues, there is nothing to ground my thoughts and rein my depression in. I am just grateful that I at least have a sense of humour, and the sense to remain reticent, and that I can exorcise my mind here!!! :-P ;-D
