I’m not a real man

If I’m man enough to admit I know I’m not a real man, does that mean I am actually man enough because I’ve manned up to my unmanliness or is this just sophistication?

The reason I ask is I have had to outsource my shelf insertion and plumbery to Aaron at Serre Chevalier Services – who is a real man, in my opinion ‘coz he can do things like that.

When he comes round I get a bit breathy and make him a hot beverage, like my mum did for her builders, and the hands on him – like a rugby player’s. Not like my pianist phalanges.

When I DIY I can get one screw in the right place, but if say the bookshelf needs three more it does go a bit pear-shaped and I end up using long screws all going in at an angle to hold it in place.

Living in cities does make you soft, I’m of the “if it’s broke phone some one brigade, it’s all right I’ll mix the drinks.”

It’s amazing how many little things either need doing or could be done but aren’t, one day with Aaron and I’m feeling constructive – I provide directions and can put the raw plugs in.

For chalet maintenance or much larger works I can’t recommend anyone higher for this sort of thing, he’s a Brit and legit – which means a lot here.

For a trained horticulturalist and someone I met dressed as a lady at Ms Chantemerle, he’s a real man, just ask Rick he’s had his hands all over his old boiler this week.