Living with Builders....

I had to break the news that the heated towel rail was damaged in transit and would not arrive until mid July.
If the Brexit result did not go down well, you can only imagine what effect this news had. Dearest has been without a shower and a second toilettte for three weeks now. The strain of being a towel-clad Tarzan, crushed by the early morning rush to the bedroom (which is also being done)  is beginning to take its toll. With increasing speed and  dexterity he flings himself into his Changing room. I call it a Changing room, not because I have a mis-placed sense of grandeur, or in the hope that Someone emerges from it calmer and more rational,  but really because the adoption of my daughter's old box room is an attempt to contain all Dearest's schtuff so that he can get dressed with as little assistance from me (you know, avoiding the divorce-inducing, "Where's MY..?").
So when I said that we had to stick with this particular towel rail, as the plumbing had been done to this measurement, and nothing else would fit the knobs...
"What haven't the knobs fitted?' he cried. He never listens to me properly. If at all. But it is an indication that three weeks in of sharing our house with very nice industrious workmen is beginning to pall.
It happens to everyone in the end.