CHAPTER 5 Jasmine in the Loire Valley

As anticipated my relationship with Tracy did not survive. I needed a change, so I moved to London.

Initially I stayed with my brother Dick in his rented flat in Battersea. The gay owner of the property occupied the ground floor, Sam a newspaper photographer lived on the middle floor, while Dick and I shared the top floor. After a few months of house hunting, I made a purchase in the Peckham area. At that time early in 1981, Peckham’s reputation was that of a run down, hot bed of crime and violence. This meant housing there was amongst London’s cheapest. Not only were house prices low, but also London Bridge railway station, could be reached by train, in just a few minutes. Since my employer was located near Finsbury Square in the City, that made Peckham very convenient.

Of course cheap by London standards did not mean cheap by Swindon standards. Despite making a one hundred percent profit on my previous property, the modest three bedroom terraced house in Peckham, required me to treble the amount of my mortgage loan. That, despite the fact it did not have a garage.

This house needed quite a bit of renovation work, which was shabbily, but cheaply carried out by a builder named Jerry. When I asked Jerry to quote me to do a job I was always pleasantly surprised at the modest sum demanded. Later when I saw him working, I invariably felt I’d been ripped off.

A typical example was when I asked him to reroute a long copper pipe that ran under the bath. I imagined he would cut the pipe and then solder in a new section and two ninety degree bends, making a ∫ shaped detour, thus completing the work. “Five quid including materials”, sounded like a great deal to me, even though my assistance would be required.

The deal was agreed and Jerry didn't waste any time getting on with the job. He had previously removed the side panel from the bath in order to estimate the job, now he grabbed the pipe in both hands and pulled it towards him. I was then instructed to hold it in place, while Jerry drove a six inch nail half way into wooden joist, right next to the pipe. The nail served to stop the pipe from springing back to it’s former position. He then refitted the bath panel and asked for his five quid.

I seriously doubted that the cost of the nail, plus three minutes of Jerry’s time and the very short-term hire of his hammer and screwdriver, was worth five quid. However Jerry was of a build and temperament that made me disinclined to make an issue of the matter. My main regret that I had already agreed to let him do a substantial amount of additional bargain priced work.

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