The Smell of Neediness
The rug has been rolled up and pushed to one side. Pokers, tongs and the small metal bucket have been shaken free of their cobwebs and put out of the way. The fireplace has been cleared of candles, bills, birthday cards, the stack of soon to expire barcode-free stamps and the wind up clock that neither springs forward nor falls back.
I'm not making room for a hoedown. I'm preparing for the chimney sweep. Chimney sweeps are hard to come by. With spiraling fuel costs everyone wants their chimney swept. I e-mailed one and he promised me a date and a time and a price. I eagerly agreed. Since then there has been no word. He might come. He might not. I could e-mail him to find out, but I don't want to appear needy. A sweep can smell neediness.
The sweep's van pulls up outside the house. He has a few questions before he can start. How long has it been since the chimney was last swept? I tell him that it's been five years. He pulls at his beard. I imagine him putting me in a mental file named: idiot. I am supposed to have it swept every year. I don't tell him that it's probably been longer. I don't want to be demoted to the file named: total idiot.
The sweep produces a tape, ducks his head under the fireplace and begins taking measurements. Our previous sweep never took measurements, he just swept. The sweep asks who fitted our wood burner. I am quick to absolve myself of all responsibility for the wood burner installed in the sitting room of my house. It was here when we moved in a decade and a half ago, I burble. The sweep pulls his beard. I imagine him filing the previous owners in a file named: muppet.
I am told that the old school sweeps would have let it go without a word. The new school of sweeps have to be more 'on it'. I make a mental note to find a less 'on it' sweep when I need one in five years time. I hope they haven't all retired.
Dust sheets are laid and an industrial sized hoover is wheeled in. I hear loud sucking noises as I duck into the studio/front room. The loud sucking noises go on for much longer than I expect. Eventually the sucking noise ends, replaced by a cry for help. The sweep has both hands up the chimney, his head pressed at an awkward angle against the fireplace. He asks if I have a bin bag.
I grab a bag from the cupboard under the sink and ask if he wants me to open it for him. Yes, he says, patiently. He has his hands full.
Another prolonged period of loud sucking commences. Later, much later than I anticipated, the job is done. The sweep shows me the bin bag heavy with debris from the chimney and begins to fill in the certificate. I am warned of the dangers of chimney fires.
Chimney fires are bad. The last thing I want is a chimney fire. I agree. The last thing I want is a chimney fire. There's a special place in the sweep's mental files for people who start chimney fires.
The sweep hands me the certificate. I hand over the money. I read the certificate and casually enquire how much it would cost, just a rough estimate, to address the few outstanding issues that won't fit in the box on the certificate. The number quoted suggests it will be cheaper to break up the furniture and burn it outside in the fire pit.
It's going to be a long winter.
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Shameless capitalism
Paris, the fairy tale romance beautifully drawn by Simon Gane and written by me is out now from Image comics.
Simon has made two A3 prints from the book and they are gorgeous. Drop by his store and snag one for yourself.
Sunburn from Simon and me is due out November 24th. I did an interview with Matt at Down the Tubes discussing how our collaboration works.
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