Death by Bleeper

My road is yet again being excavated. This morning there were no less than SEVEN industrial vehicles (only one that could actually fit in the rd) and 10 men in wellies all standing around a huge hole gushing with water for the third time in a month. Their resurfacing vehicle, which sounds a safety beep as it reverses, has needed to go back and forth across this hole doing whatever it is doing, so for the last two hours it has been death by bleeper.

When I was at the Thames festival and a photographer for a French magazine asked permission to take my photo. I said 'sure' and then wondered if this was going to be the How Not To Dress shot, a kind of 'before' picture she was going to flaunt as an illustration of the unfashionableness of eccentric British 40-somethings.

High pressure water jets are now being used outside and there are bright orange-and-black vehicles forming blockades at both ends of the street. The workmen seem bemused at their inability to staunch the flow of water and have been taking turns to kneel down by the hole, stand in the hole, and push their arms down the hole. Turning off the main supply is obviously too simple a solution. The resurfacing vehicle does not seem to have resurfaced anything. My mum has been out and told them they don't know what they're doing whereas I offered them tea (that may account for why she has no water but I do). Off to find the ear plugs.

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