We think they've gone, the lads. Auf Wiedersehen, Pet an' all that. Work seems to be 99% complete on the Home for the Bewildered out back and all the lads vanished on Friday. It's all gone quiet. No more Bob Marley music sung in Geordie accents, or brief discussions across the fence as they accepted our cups of coffee, no more scream of stone cutters, chug of diesel engines, or the clunk and clang of excavator bits, or their shouts as they hail each other across the site, or laugh at a bit of banter.
Sometimes they'd play football in the almost-complete car park, so when we found a stitched football behind our shed, we guess it's come over the fence on one of their last kick-abouts last week. It's great - Dad brought it to the Rec for me tonight and Smudge and I had a great game chasing it about. Even Meggie had the occasional playful pounce on it.
Being terriers, mind you, the mission was to leap on it, nip it somewhere vulnerable and shake the life out of it, so it's not the clean, nearly-new perfectly skinned item it was when it came over the fence - there are big chunks ripped in the outer skin (it's not real leather), but that's just a dog-to-ball expression of lurve.
Mind you, after "Toon's" fate at the weekend, maybe they dumped the ball over the fence in disgust....
Look after yourself Lads
We'll miss you
Deefer
Showing posts with label Geordie Roofers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Geordie Roofers. Show all posts
Tuesday, 26 May 2009
Tuesday, 14 April 2009
Why - Aye! Champion!
Out back of us, work on the Home for the Bewildered nears completion. Our beloved "Geordie Roofers", with their Bob Marley music (No Woman no Cry with a Geordie accent! Bizarre) have long since finished the roof and moved indoors, so we hear them nothing like as much now.
Today, though, they are laying out gardens and paths and getting ready to build the brick wheelie-bin store just beyond our back fence, so we hear them again, especially when one driving a fork lift to move pallets of bricks around must have nearly got into harm's way, as there were.... ahem.... voices raised in anguish.
At one stage Dad wanders down there to have a nosey over the fence and calls across "Hi, How's it Going?" "Why Aye - Champion!" comes back the rich Geordie accent "Loovely Weather Right Enough!". I have to say, that we (ignorant Kentish) people are calling them "Geordies" - they are probably nothing of the sort - I know that there is fierce rivalry and jealous guarding of such tribal handles - you probably have to be from a specific part of Newcastle (Byker or Walker for example) to earn it, and these guys might well be from South Shields or Sunderland. Mind you, they probably call us all "Southerners" or "Cockneys".
Dad has a day off, for a meeting of the Village of the Year judges (and it might be something to do with his Birthday (Happy Birthday, Dad), and takes advantage of the chilling opportunity, to fit in his due 24-hour blood pressure test. He has to wear all day a box of tricks at his belt, and over his shoulder to the sleeve on his arm, an air pipe. Every 20 minutes the box beeps, then pumps up the sleeve, taking its readings, clicking a few times as it all deflates. At 11pm it will change over to night mode (hourly), and at 08:30 tomorrow he must hand it back in to have the readings downloaded and analysed. No winding Dad up today.
As if
Deefski
Today, though, they are laying out gardens and paths and getting ready to build the brick wheelie-bin store just beyond our back fence, so we hear them again, especially when one driving a fork lift to move pallets of bricks around must have nearly got into harm's way, as there were.... ahem.... voices raised in anguish.
At one stage Dad wanders down there to have a nosey over the fence and calls across "Hi, How's it Going?" "Why Aye - Champion!" comes back the rich Geordie accent "Loovely Weather Right Enough!". I have to say, that we (ignorant Kentish) people are calling them "Geordies" - they are probably nothing of the sort - I know that there is fierce rivalry and jealous guarding of such tribal handles - you probably have to be from a specific part of Newcastle (Byker or Walker for example) to earn it, and these guys might well be from South Shields or Sunderland. Mind you, they probably call us all "Southerners" or "Cockneys".
Dad has a day off, for a meeting of the Village of the Year judges (and it might be something to do with his Birthday (Happy Birthday, Dad), and takes advantage of the chilling opportunity, to fit in his due 24-hour blood pressure test. He has to wear all day a box of tricks at his belt, and over his shoulder to the sleeve on his arm, an air pipe. Every 20 minutes the box beeps, then pumps up the sleeve, taking its readings, clicking a few times as it all deflates. At 11pm it will change over to night mode (hourly), and at 08:30 tomorrow he must hand it back in to have the readings downloaded and analysed. No winding Dad up today.
As if
Deefski
Thursday, 8 January 2009
A Thaw and some Fog
After a succession of icy days which kept the frozen snow on the ground, and made walking a bit interesting, today we have a bit of a thaw (3 degrees) which clears up the residual snow, but leaves the ground hard except for a greasy smear on the surface. That's my cue to race about and get muddy again, at least below the plimsoll line. Yes, ruined the new "hair-do", is what. I have managed to remain pristine white since Saturday, but you can safely say that is no longer the case.
Tonight, in the dusk on the Rec, there's a pea-souper fog, and I am frequently in trouble for exercising my voice at any figures and dogs looming out of the whiteness. One is really embarrassing - as I charge full tilt at a big shaggy Alsatian, only to find it's our good buddy Storm. Ooops.
Dad's come out in sympathy at our shorn bodies, and had his own hair cut, so now he knows how we feel in this weather, and has been seen wussing out in a hat. Welcome back Geordie roofers, back at work on the Home for the Bewildered out the back of here - they've been on hols for about 2 weeks all across the break. We've missed all the "Why aye, man!" stuff and the reggae music (one is a mad keen Bob Marley fan, and if he's not playing it on a ghetto-blaster, he's singing "a cappella"..... Noooo Woman, no Cry! etc)
Jammin' in the Name of the Lord
Deefer
Tonight, in the dusk on the Rec, there's a pea-souper fog, and I am frequently in trouble for exercising my voice at any figures and dogs looming out of the whiteness. One is really embarrassing - as I charge full tilt at a big shaggy Alsatian, only to find it's our good buddy Storm. Ooops.
Dad's come out in sympathy at our shorn bodies, and had his own hair cut, so now he knows how we feel in this weather, and has been seen wussing out in a hat. Welcome back Geordie roofers, back at work on the Home for the Bewildered out the back of here - they've been on hols for about 2 weeks all across the break. We've missed all the "Why aye, man!" stuff and the reggae music (one is a mad keen Bob Marley fan, and if he's not playing it on a ghetto-blaster, he's singing "a cappella"..... Noooo Woman, no Cry! etc)
Jammin' in the Name of the Lord
Deefer
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