On Thursday I'm cleaning 5 out of a terrace of 7 1960's houses. Parking is across about 20 yards of grass with separate blocks of garages and so I park up then run hose to each house.
So I don't bother knocking and do all the top fronts and am working back along the bottoms. I notice a funeral cortege turn up and go over, move my cones and hose to let them pull up and carry on.
Five minutes later I'm cleaning the lounge window and in the reflection I see a top hatted, morning coated funeral director walk up to the front path.
Gold: "You coming here?"
TopHat: "Errr this is No 14 isn't it?"
Gold: "Yes but I don't know if anyones home ..."
TopHat (grinning but speaking quietly) "I hope so, can't keep the deceased waiting ..."
Gold: " I'll make myself scarce"
(Leg it and frantically start pulling 50 metres of microbore away from the front path and out of the way of the funeral cars as my custy and family walk towards the coffin)
What is it with me and the dearest departed? This is the same road as I had my infamous falling out with the Polish gent who told me his wife was dead when I got antsy about taking him back on as a customer!
