He is a pleasant man of my age whom we do not see very often. I like him and so does the dog. He is reasonably tall, strongly built, somewhat overweight, with muscular legs and an elastic walk – a footballer in his spare time. His face is round with a frame of straight blond hair. There is a pair of friendly eyes behind glasses.
He acknowledges any signs one gives to create verbal contact, in fact making the most out of the humblest opportunity. For example when I remarked one day that the wind was strong, he replied “yes, it is, isn’t it”. He looks at me calmly when I ask questions, then gives detailed answers without lingering unduly.
As I am washing up, he calmly reaches past my arm to check the hot tap. I can hear him sing and whistle from time to time. When he kneels in front of the washing machine, his pullover slips up, revealing a piece of bare back; I have seen it every single time he has been. He never overcharges and leaves us whistling. When he had left last time he called, my daughter cautiously inquired whether I mention any names in my descriptions. The Plumber’s son is in her class. Wouldn’t it be embarrassing …