Man, what a day! I swear, if I had a quid for every crazy thing that happened, I’d be rich. So, I’m a carpenter, right? Just your average bloke, hammering away in Earlsfield. You know, that lovely little spot in South London? Yeah, that’s where I’m at.
Started off at the crack of dawn. I’m talking 6 AM, bleary-eyed, dragging my feet down Garratt Lane. The sun was barely up, and I’m already cursing the world. Why do I do this to myself? Anyway, I get to my workshop on Magdalen Road, and it’s like a bloody sauna in there. I’m sweating like a pig, and it’s not even 7 yet.
First job of the day? Fixing some dodgy shelves for this posh couple on Earlsfield Road. They’re all “Oh, we need it perfect!” and I’m like, “Yeah, mate, I’m a carpenter, not a magician.” But whatever, I get to work. I’m measuring, cutting, and then—BAM!—I slice my finger. Ouch! Blood everywhere. I’m thinking, “Great, just what I need.”
But then, I hear this commotion outside. I peek out the window, and there’s a bunch of kids playing footie on the street. They’re shouting, laughing, and I can’t help but smile. Reminds me of when I was a lad, kicking a ball around on Lavenham Road. Good times, man.
So, I bandage up my finger and get back to it. I finish the shelves, and they look decent, if I do say so myself. The couple’s all smiles, and I’m feeling chuffed. But then, they hit me with the bill. “Oh, we didn’t expect it to be that much!” I’m like, “Well, you wanted it perfect, didn’t ya?”
After that, I head over to the local café on Earlsfield High Street. I’m starving. I order a bacon sarnie and a cuppa. While I’m waiting, I see this old bloke struggling with his shopping bags. I rush over, help him out, and he’s all grateful. Makes me feel good, you know? Like, maybe I’m not just a grumpy carpenter after all.
But then, the café runs out of bacon! Can you believe it? I’m like, “What kind of café runs out of bacon?” I mean, come on! So, I settle for a cheese toastie. Not the same, but whatever.
Next, I’ve got a job over on St. John’s Hill. It’s a bit of a trek, but I’m used to it. I’m walking down the street, and I see this lovely little park. It’s got those big trees and a playground. I think, “Man, I should bring my kids here more often.”
But then, I get to the job, and it’s a disaster. The client’s all “I want this, I want that,” and I’m like, “Mate, I’m not a bloody genie!” I try to keep my cool, but inside, I’m fuming. I mean, how hard is it to decide on a bloody cabinet?
Finally, I get it sorted, and I’m feeling a bit better. I’m packing up my tools when I hear this loud bang. I look up, and some numpty’s crashed his bike into a lamppost. I can’t help but laugh. The guy’s fine, just a bit embarrassed.
By the time I’m heading home, I’m knackered. I stroll down Earlsfield Road, and the sun’s setting. It’s beautiful, really. I think about how mad today was. The ups, the downs, the random bike crashes.
I get home, plop on the couch, and think, “What a day.” I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Earlsfield’s my home, and even with all the madness, I wouldn’t have it any other way.