Hitting the Roof

You'd think buying sixty roof tiles and getting them home would be a scoosh for someone with a tow-bar and a trailer. After all, that's exactly the sort of thing one does all the time when married to a Rob. I've no idea how often I've been to the builders' yard to pick up stuff for his latest project - actually the on-going one which is this house - only to find that it's an enormous thing that has to be tied onto the roof or stuck out the window, or somehow impede one's ability to change gear.

However, yesterday's task almost defeated me. First problem is the trailer, which I discover to be full of bags of old cement and a bag of lime which has swelled in the rain and burst. I assume Rob had intended taking them to the tip so I resolve to do just that - when I can get the darned trailer attached to the car! The cement's so heavy that I can't budge it and the bags are too heavy for me to lift out.

Now this is the first weekend for a while that the weather promises to be dry. The roof is, if not entirely open to the elements, not exactly closed, lacking sixty tiles. I need to get those tiles. I phone Number One Son whom I know to be at home and take the dogs out while waiting for him to arrive. He arrives, wearing a Superman tee-shirt. My hero. Together, with our combined weight of less than twenty stones, we somehow manage to move and attach the trailer. Hooray! Superman and I drive to the tip.

The tip is closed. Or at least, it's not functioning as a tip for the next few days. All the skips are away. It's a car-park for the Games - Dunoon is en fete for the weekend of the Cowal Games. My howl of frustration is heard by a man who kindly lets me drive in and round because I can't reverse with darn trailer attached! Okay, I admit it - I'm a woman driver and we don't do fancy reversing tricks with trailers. They go the wrong way, they twist themselves into jack-knife mode and refuse to budge. I usually have to unhitch the thing and re-attach it after I've turned, but it's too heavy this time. Superman keeps quiet. He can't reverse it either.

I decide to go to the builders' yard anyway, nursing a vain hope that there might be a skip there. The surly chap at the desk is not entirely unaffected by my tale of woe and waves in the direction of a skip which appears to be at capacity. I want to kiss him but restrain myself and try not to think about the fact that my car and trailer are stranded in the yard facing the wrong way, surrounded by trucks and and fork-lifts and men with hairy arms and buiders' bums. Superman is looking a little embarrassed beside his mother's abandoned car but cheers up with the good news and staggers to the skip with the bags of cement, which he balances on top of the full pile with grim determination, and I look for a shovel to get rid of the lime, most of which I tranfer to my clothes and person. Surly Chap goes off with my sample tile to find a match.

Sixty roof-tiles is a trailer-full and they are heavy. I can vouch for that. I manage to carry two at a time and Superman can manage five at a stagger. At some point I seize an opportunity to drive the car in a circle to face out the way as a couple of the trucks leave. Maybe no-one will notice that I'm unable to reverse. The trucks are quickly replaced by several more and a huge skip-lorry arrives to take away the skip, but he he can't get near it because of me and I'm not budging until I have sixty tiles aboard. Three more trucks arrive but they can't get in either. The man with the fork-lift has a load of floorboards on the front and wants through the gap but it isn't wide enough. Superman continues to weave his way in and out of the obstacle course with five at a time while I apologise to the hairy-armed ones. Finally I get my bill from Surly Chap and we depart - or at least we depart after the skip lorry and pick-up trucks have reversed back out of the gate to let us through. I smile and wave cheerily.

"I see you got the tiles," remarks my beloved when he gets home from work.

"Oh yes," I reply, "no bother."