Four strikes and you're out.

When the great Samuel Beckett sat down to write Waiting For Godot, I truly and honestly believe that he was thinking of a plumber.

I know this, because being in the possession of a shower without any hot water, I, too, am waiting for a plumber.  I haven’t the foggiest where Vladimir and Estragon have got to but I have two flatmates so they can fill in.

We were told Godot/the plumber would be here last Tuesday evening. He was not. We were then informed that he would be here last Wednesday evening. He was not. We were then informed that he was in fact ill, and would not be with us until Saturday evening. On Saturday evening we were informed that he was unfortunately detained by a plumbing emergency, and would thus not be with us until Sunday (he wasn’t), as we were not enough of a pressing appointment in comparison.

Personally, I feel that he should explain that a lack of clean, hot water is not a pressing matter to medieval sufferers of cholera, or a pneumonia victim in need of being warmed up, as he will not find them any less angry about the situation than me when needing a hot shower post-exercise.

It is now Monday and I am still waiting.

If David Cameron was to not turn up for work four times in a row there would be (amongst some relief) a public outcry. He’d be sacked. If a waitress didn't show up for work four times in a row- she'd be sacked. If a footballer didn't turn up for four games in a row, he'd be sacked. I fail to see why tradesmen are allowed to channel Lord bloody Lucan whenever they feel like it, but the rest of us have to show up on time. It’s not on and I would like my SHOWER FIXED!

Have I told him any of this? Of course not, I want him to show up.