That was it. That was just about enough. Told Richard was not in the terms of my contract to be humiliated on screen and was no way going to do it.
Got home, late and exhausted, to find Gary the Builder still there and house completely taken over with burnt toast under the grill, washing up and copies of the Angler's Mail and Coarse Fishennan all over the shop.
"What do you think?" said Gary, proudly nodding at his handiwork.
"They're great! They're great" I gushed, feeling mouth going into funny tight shape. "There's just one little thing. Do you think you could make it so the supports are all in line with each other?"
Shelves, in fact were put up in mad asymmetrical manner with supports here, there and everywhere, different on each layer.
"Yeah, well, you see, the problem is it's your electric cable, because if I plug the wall here it'll short-circuit the lot," Gary began, at which point the phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Hi, is that dating war command?" Was Mark on the mobile.
"The only thing I could do is take them out and put rivets under the awlings," gibberished Gary.
"Have you got someone there?" crackled Mark above the traffic.
"No, it's just the . . ." I was about to say builder but did not want to insult Gary so changed it to "Gary - a friend of Magda's."
"What's he doing there?"
"Course you'll need a new raw-gidge," continued Gary.
"Listen, I'm in the car. Do you want to come out for supper tonight with Giles?"
"I've said I'll see the girls."
"Oh Christ. I suppose I'll be dismembered and dissected, and thoroughly analysed."
"No you won't..."
"Hang on. Just going under the Westway." Crackle, crackle, crackle. "I met your friend Rebecca the other day. She seemed very nice."
"I didn't know you knew Rebecca," I said, breathing very quickly.
Rebecca is not exactly a friend, except that she's always turning up in 192 with me and Jude and Shaz. But the thing about Rebecca is, she's a jellyfisher. You have a conversation with her that seems all nice and friendly, then you suddenly feel like you've been stung and you don't know where it came from. You'll be talking about jeans and she'll say 'Yes, well, if you've got cellulite jodhpurs, you're best in something really well cut like Dolce & Gabbana,' - she herself having thighs like a baby giraffe - then smoothly move on to DKNY chinos as if nothing has happened.
"Bridge, are you still there?"
"Where ... where did you see Rebecca?" I said, in a high, strangled voice.
"She was at Barky Thompson's drinks last night and introduced herself."
"Last night?"
"Yes, I dropped in on my way back because you were running late."
"What did you talk about?" I said, conscious of Gary smirking at me, with a fag hanging out of his mouth.
"Oh. You know, she asked about my work and said nice things about you," said Mark casually.
"What did she say?" I hissed.
"She said you were a free spirit ..." The line broke up for a moment.
Free spirit? Free spirit in Rebecca-speak is tantamount to saying, "Bridget sleeps around and takes hallucinatory drugs."