Last winter, I took time off from walking the mean streets of South Kensington to attend an early morning site meeting with the contracts manager and agent of a firm carrying out a roofing job. Only they weren't carrying it out. There'd been a disagreement about the meaning of the specification and work had stopped. As I approached the site the two men were waiting outside. We shook hands and admired the bright weather. Then we turned towards the scaffolding tower fixed to the front of the six-storey building. The contracts manager led the way; in the old days, this was a young man's job, now they all seemed to be like me, drifting into later middle age. I followed, and then came the burly, shaven-headed agent. By unspoken agreement we stopped to established base camp around the third floor. I've spent half my life climbing ladders and it's given me the legs of Georgie Best: a 60-vear-old drunk.
展开▼
