Never a dull moment... by David Holman-Hill Waters

 

Never a dull moment…

 

 

I’m sat on the veranda of our Turkish apartment gently easing myself into another hot and sunny day and idly contemplating a second cup of Earl Grey when I’m jolted from my reverie by the clatter of an elderly dilapidated pick-up truck swinging into the street. In a shower of dust and flaking rust, it pulls up and conks out in front of the apartment block opposite. Nothing unusual there I here you say, surely elderly dilapidated pick-up trucks swing into Turkish streets and conk out outside apartment blocks daily without ever distracting anyone from thoughts of a second cuppa.

You may indeed be right but, when from the cab emerge a vast seasoned Moustache, a wizened Checked Shirt and a decidedly ‘cool look at me’ Dude driver, ostentatiously combing his locks above his seriously ‘Cool Shades’, one’s curiosity beguiles one into thinking that, this is the sort of elderly dilapidated pick-up truck in which it is worth, for a moment or two at least, taking a passing interest.

Having alighted, vast Moustache took his time. He was in no hurry. He stretched, he scratched, he rooted; he looked about him, appraising, weighing the street with care. Here evidently was a Moustache that had been around a bit, seen a street or to in its time and could gauge the likely reception to be received from such surroundings. Having completed his appraisal vast Moustache produced a docket from his back pocket and studied it carefully. His companions stood in silent deference. Vast Moustache was obviously the brains of the outfit and would be masterminding the operation. His companions lit up and, puffing happily, awaited his verdict and their instructions. Vast Moustache pointed to a balcony half way up the front of the apartment building, and then to a large cardboard box in the back of the truck, and returned the docket to his back pocket. Instructions are gabbled through the roll-up cigarette between his lips, as he disappears inside the building.

Cool Shades duly clambers onto the bed of the truck and begins dragging the obviously heavy cardboard box towards its rear whilst Checked Shirt lowers the tailgate. With difficultly they off-loaded the box, dropping it the last couple of feet or so onto the street. With a heavy thud it keels over onto its side revealing its title and usage emblazoned across the now up-turned side proclaiming it to be a Vestel Superior air-conditioning unit. Checked Shirt and Cool Shades now begin the task of removing what is left of the once immaculate cardboard packaging.

At this point vast Moustache reappears from the building accompanied by what can only be best described as an extremely vociferous perambulating head-scarved tent. Vast Moustache once again produces his docket and, like Chamberlain returning from Munich, waves it in front of the tent; then, rapping it forcefully with a stubby forefinger waves it in the direction of the balcony half way up the building’s five floor exterior. The tent, evidently not impressed by this, dismisses these protestations and points to a spot on the building’s frontage to the left of the recessed balcony. A heated discussion now ensues climaxing in vast Moustache producing a mobile phone and, pacing up and down, commences to regale the recipient of the call with this latest development. To emphasise the high dudgeon he is now in and stress the unreasonable difficulties the perambulating tent is now placing in his path the tirade is accompanied by wild arm flailing, finger stabbing of the air, and shoulder shrugging. The perambulating tent is equally deft at the arm waving, finger stabbing, jabbering and gesticulating, following some two or three steps in vast Moustache’s wake. Cool Shades and Checked Shirt, silent and wary, retreat to the safety of the far side of the truck.

I was beginning to gather from the flailing arm gestures that vast Moustache was of the opinion, and understanding, that from his docket the new Vestel Superior was to be sighted within the perambulating tent’s balcony. The perambulating tent on the other hand was equally adamant that it was not going inside her balcony, where despite the unit’s stated Superiority it would be an eyesore; not to mention where persons standing up a bit sharpish, might well crack their heads on it, thereby suffering long term cranial damage and hospital bills. No, she wanted it on the wall outside.

Finally, vast Moustache phone call finished, and with arms flung despairingly in the air, he goes back inside the apartment block accompanied by the perambulating tent and followed by Checked Shirt and Cool Shades carrying a large bag of tools.

It is several minutes before heads appeared over the parapet at the top of the building. Vast Moustache, Checked Shirt and Cool Shades all assess the drop below. After some debate vast Moustache is back on his phone whilst Checked Shirt and Cool Shades returned to the truck to collect the Vestel Superior and a quantity of rope. Much loud chatter and gesticulation are now the order of the day, and it is a while before Checked Shirt suddenly appears over the top of the parapet, rope tied around his waist, and is lowered down to a position level with the perambulating tent’s balcony. A second rope is now dropped over the parapet, tool bag attached. Vast Moustache, cigarette still clamped in his lips and in grave danger of setting fire to his bristling pride and joy, is still issuing instructions through gritted teeth and tight lips whilst endeavouring not to let go of the rope that is permitting Checked Shirt to waft around some thirty feet off the ground.

Vigorous conversations back and forth are now engaged in, vast Moustache giving instructions to Checked Shirt. Checked Shirt, scrabbling about on the end of his rope countermanding these and issuing instructions of his own to be wafted right, left, up or down. With astonishing dexterity Checked Shirt manages not only to mark out the hole drilling positions for the brackets that will support the air con unit but maintains his lit cigarette between his lips at the same time. An electric drill is now lowered down to by its power cable and holes begin to be drilled.

It is at this point that comedic eccentricity rears its chortling head. Checked Shirt’s mobile goes off and, still clutching cigarette and drill, he attempts, arms and legs flailing like an inebriated spider’s, to extract said phone from his trouser pocket. This merely encourages greater shouting of instructions from both vast Moustache and Cool Shades up above, resulting in Checked Shirt’s eventually aborting his attempt to retrieve the William Tell Overture jauntily emanating from his trouser pocket and continue drilling.

Vast Moustache, whose arms must by now be aching and Checked Shirt whose waist and ribs must be the same, deem it time to take a breather and Checked Shirt is duly hauled, elbows and knees scraping the wall, back up and over the parapet. Several phone calls later Checked Shirt is ready for part two of this enthralling escapade.

This time he is lowered carrying two gallows brackets, which he duly bolts into the holes he has drilled in the wall. They now throw a second rope down, which amazingly he catches, and tying this around his waist, lashes himself to the brackets and releases the rope around his waist by which he had been lowered, thus allowing vast Moustache to retrieve the rope from which Checked Shirt was lowered. With Cool Shades help, vast Moustache now lowers the air-con unit down to Checked Shirt. This he bolts into place on the brackets. Unit secured, Checked Shirt now releases the unit’s lowering ropes and attaches them about his waist. He unties himself from the brackets and, is once again scrappingly hoisted back up the wall.

By now it’s getting on for lunch time and our merry trio, full in the knowledge of what an excellent morning’s work they have achieved, disappear for an hour or so before returning to connect up the electrics and hose cabling. This they festoon around the face of the building and into the balcony of a now equally happy perambulating head-scarfed tent.

To the visitor in this foreign land it’s difficult to know which impresses or astounds one more, the ingenuity and audacity of your Turkish workman in surmounting a problem, the courage and fearlessness with which he carries it out or, the sheer incomprehensible madness of what is being attempted. Your average clip-boarded British Health and Safety official would have an apoplectic fit and be reduced to a gibbering wreck in the recuperation ward of the home for distraught ex Health and Safety officers within a week, if posted here.