My gable end...

is fixed. After much delay a wizened old goat driving a battered flat bed lorry arrived on Thursday morning. Scaffolding Joe, for it was he, slit the throat of a black cockerel and stained my newly pointed brickwork with the twitching bird's dark red blood.
'Well, that's different'. I thought

I stood someway off with Eddy my nicotined roofer, both awaiting a propitious sunrise.

"For fuck's sake," Says I "Propitious! It's scaffolding not life."
"That's easy for you to say." Says Eddy lighting another roll up. "Where's that flask of tea? It's a bit parky this early on."
I go inside and return with the tea as Joe's chants begin to wake the neighbours.
Nervously I ask Eddy, "Will he be much longer?"
Eddy replies "Not sure," And we both notice Joe reach into the lorry cab for another cockerel.
Eddy shouts, "Joe, it's a one cockerel job this."
Joe pauses, looks at us and then at the cockerel squawking upside down in his large fist.
Annoyed, Joe says, "A one cockerel job? I needn't have brought this". He tosses the relieved bird through the cab window and into the lap of Bubba his shaven headed son. Eddy and I are not convinced his remark was addressed solely to the cockerel.
"Boy! Git out here and start putting stuff up" He nods at the flatbed laden with poles of a most propitious type.
"Okay paw," Says the boy hitching his oily dungarees.
"Why are they talking like that?" I whisper to Eddy. "They're from Manchester".
"Stereotype of folk who toil." He replies. "Modern life requires them to sound as if they're from the deep south of the US and not Somerset. It's cultural imperialism gone mad." I nod in a wise way.
The sun rises above brooding clouds, Bubba begins unloading the truck and I retreat to my kitchen for toast. After half an hour Eddy comes in to tell me the flask is empty.
"How are they doing?" I ask, refilling the kettle as Eddy makes himself comfortable on my chaise longue.
"Making progress, making progress." He says.
"That chicken thing was a bit messy" I say.
"You should see the ceremony for industrial contracts." He replies.
"Toast?" I offer.
"Don't mind if I do," Says he.