Dick… and the Dastardly Decorators

High drama at our apartment block this month after we employed an ‘experienced’ decorating company to paint the external walls and metalwork – only for the Chuckle Brothers to show up.

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This hapless pair seemed to spend most of their time smoking and eating sandwiches in their battered Peugeot, emerging only to scratch their heads in bemusement – barely registering the need to dip their brush in a pot of paint from time to time.

The Chuckle Brothers probably thought they could get away with slapping a bit of paint on the walls in between lengthy tea breaks. But little did they know that their workmanship would be conducted under the hawk-like watch of my favourite nosy neighbours: twitchy Susan and downtrodden Dick, who took up permanent residence in their window and began logging a minute-by-minute account of the clueless cowboys’ movements (or lack thereof!)

Less than 12 hours after their arrival, SuDick began firing off emails to anyone who’d listen, documenting the sheer scale of the Chuckle Brothers’  ineptitude: walls not adequately primed, metal work not sanded down, scaffolding posing a ‘health and safety’ hazard…

I won’t bore you with the details but let’s just say the Chuckle Brothers aren’t chuckling anymore. In fact, SuDick have pretty much seen them off the premises.

As a result, we are currently locked in a battle over paying them, with Dick now threatening to send a sample of the paint work to a laboratory (yep, a laboratory!) to be scientifically analysed.

Having got wind of this, Chuckle Brother 1 then attempted a stealth return to the scene to patch up his flaky paintwork.

But he was no match for ever-watchful Dick – with even Belligerent Bill getting in on the act…

Here’s Dick’s latest:

Dear residents,

Darren the decorating ‘gaffer’ showed up this morning. Bea from apartment 2 came and knocked on our door and said ‘there’s a painter on my deck!’ From the back of our place I could see Darren on his knees trying to scrape paint off the upright girders at Apt. 2.

Anyway, Bill then came home and exchanged a few words with Darren who beat a hasty retreat, as I witnessed: Darren scrambled over the railings onto the lawn with his stepladder.

A bit later Susan found him in the car park and told him to go away and take his paint pots with him. There was ‘something of an exchange of words’ I am told, but he went. Apparently, he blames us residents for not getting paid. Susan can tell you more.

Susan informed [management company] and I think Bill also phoned…

Q1: What did Darren think he was going to achieve?

Q2: Who had tipped him off to focus on the metalwork down there?


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