Cowboys

I grew up thinking that cowboys were Cary Grant lookalikes,  who rode large horses and had a wicked way with a lariat.  I have since learned otherwise.  Cowboys drive white vans and come in jeans, which often show more than you want to see when they bend down.  They call one 'darling' and they (try to) charge you a bomb.  

It is not just the mega money which hurts though, but the fact that they have done a lousy job and, as often as not, you only find out the next time something goes wrong, when you are asked: "Who did that then? Right cowboy!" And you discover a saga of shortcuts and bad practice.

Example: Bunched up newspaper round an exterior flue, where it is supposed to be cemented into the wall. The plumber, a nice chatty chap with whom I talked rates for the job and to whom I said that he was earning more than the prime minister, replied with a degree of smugness "Is that so?"

More recently and more dangerously, electric shocks from the kitchen sink in our French cottage. The cause eventually discovered - a cable running the length of the back garden to a shed. The cable totally unsuitable for outdoor use and an inch below the surface!

I don't know what the French call cowboys but they sure have them too!