23 January 1997 Edition
Builders: smokers and liars?
I may be a bit of an atheist but I never fail to thank God for good documentaries. Channel 4's Cutting Edge series returned this week and the first offering was as original, entertaining and well produced as ever. Michael Elphick (of Boon fame) narrated The Builders Are Coming (Monday, 20 January, 9pm) a wry but revealing look at the world of house extensions, patios, roof repairs, tiling, plastering etc etc.
The programme followed four sets of builders and their clients. ``I just know they are going to end up hating me. They always do,'' admitted Simon, the most lucid and likeable of the builders featured, and something of a romantic about the game. The easy bit, apparently, is the building itself. The hard part is dealing with the clients. ``It starts off beautifully,'' he said, ``but within a week or two they can't wait to see the back of you. They don't want to hear the truth.''
A client, on the other hand, complained that her builders treated their home ``like a building site''. Admittedly, Rhona Barnfield had good reason to be frustrated. A job originally expected to take six months had run into its eleventh month with no sign of an end. While she climbed the walls, her husband, a suit with more money than sense, derived great pleasure from `helping' the builders and constantly changing the plans. They had allowed him to play an active role early on with the electrics until he cut a live wire.
The builders had great respect for him. ``We just say yes and he goes to work a happy man. Then we just do what we like. It keeps everyone happy.'' Gary, the main builder, did not improve matters by taking a holiday to the Costa Del Sol as the deadline approached. He later repeated his client's impressions of him, as repeated by her young daughter: ``Builders are all smokers and liars but Gary doesn't smoke.''
At the poverty-stricken end of the business we met John Allaway, who had once run a thriving multi-million-pound business and even started his own fine art collection during Thatcher's `80s boom but was now reduced to a one-man operation from a battered van. He may have spent all his time on camera being rejected or giving fruitless estimates but he was cheerfully philosophical about it all.
Down in Surrey, Della Joyce and Jean Brookes were preparing for the arrival of two builders who they had hired from the North of England. The southern breed had proved unsatisfactory but the men from the north, while welcome, proved a mystery which had the double act perplexed.
- I don't know what they'll eat. Bacon, eggs, sausages, black pudding.
- Black pudding?
- Well, I don't like it but they might.
When Russ and Mick arrived, they upset their clients immediately by refusing the offer of an evening meal. The ladies explained that they had preferred to ``go to the local tavern for a bevy'' and had ended up eating a burger, no, a kebab. ``Perhaps they thought we were going to take advantage of them,'' one mused.
Simon, meanwhile, was having trouble. The job had run over time, he was £12,000 in the red and his relationship with his clients had deteriorated, admittedly because he kept having to lie to them about when he would finish. At times like this he liked to think of the good times and the particularly fond memory of a wonderful job he had done for one Mrs Jones (cue soundtrack of soul song of the same name and soft focus camerawork) with whom he had a working relationship more reminiscent of a love affair. Unusually, both spoke of each other in glowing terms. He had even given up his golf day to visit her on the pretext of seeing the job. ``When you get me to like you like that, you can have anything you want,'' he purred. On balance, despite being generally roguish, my sympathies were with the builders but this was probably because most of the clients were well heeled and patronising. Should I ever own property, I think I'll make sure everything is perfect before I move in.
Next week's Cutting Edge, at the same time on Monday night, is a must see. The programme will investigate the tragic Chinook helicopter disaster of 1994 which left a couple of dozen deceased top security personnel plastered all over the Mull of Kintyre. Were the pilots to blame or is there more to it? Tune in and see if there's anything new.
The Short Cuts series of Irish films continued with The Big O, the story of Rita (Dearbhla McClelland). She is a young Derry hairdresser, bored with the rut she is in and frustrated in her quest to finally experience an orgasm. ``I'm looking for more than a B&B in Bundoran,'' she laments, as her workmates mercilessly rib her about what she's missing: ``I don't know about you, but I hit more than I miss,'' quips one.
The crunch comes when Rita's boyfriend finally accuses her of being selfish. ``Selfish? I'm the one that's been faking it for four years!'' she erupts. ``Not everyone can be faking?'' one of her workmates slurs later, as the salon staff unwind in the pub. ``No,'' retorts another, ``just women!''
The upshot is that Rita finally seduces a man, has her orgasm and seeing what she's been missing, packs her rucksack to see the world. Like previous programmes in this excellent showcase series for new Irish talent, The Big O was excellent drama. A liberating experience all round. More of the same please, RTE. Much more.
BY LIAM O COILEAIN
The programme followed four sets of builders and their clients. ``I just know they are going to end up hating me. They always do,'' admitted Simon, the most lucid and likeable of the builders featured, and something of a romantic about the game. The easy bit, apparently, is the building itself. The hard part is dealing with the clients. ``It starts off beautifully,'' he said, ``but within a week or two they can't wait to see the back of you. They don't want to hear the truth.''
A client, on the other hand, complained that her builders treated their home ``like a building site''. Admittedly, Rhona Barnfield had good reason to be frustrated. A job originally expected to take six months had run into its eleventh month with no sign of an end. While she climbed the walls, her husband, a suit with more money than sense, derived great pleasure from `helping' the builders and constantly changing the plans. They had allowed him to play an active role early on with the electrics until he cut a live wire.
The builders had great respect for him. ``We just say yes and he goes to work a happy man. Then we just do what we like. It keeps everyone happy.'' Gary, the main builder, did not improve matters by taking a holiday to the Costa Del Sol as the deadline approached. He later repeated his client's impressions of him, as repeated by her young daughter: ``Builders are all smokers and liars but Gary doesn't smoke.''
At the poverty-stricken end of the business we met John Allaway, who had once run a thriving multi-million-pound business and even started his own fine art collection during Thatcher's `80s boom but was now reduced to a one-man operation from a battered van. He may have spent all his time on camera being rejected or giving fruitless estimates but he was cheerfully philosophical about it all.
Down in Surrey, Della Joyce and Jean Brookes were preparing for the arrival of two builders who they had hired from the North of England. The southern breed had proved unsatisfactory but the men from the north, while welcome, proved a mystery which had the double act perplexed.
- I don't know what they'll eat. Bacon, eggs, sausages, black pudding.
- Black pudding?
- Well, I don't like it but they might.
When Russ and Mick arrived, they upset their clients immediately by refusing the offer of an evening meal. The ladies explained that they had preferred to ``go to the local tavern for a bevy'' and had ended up eating a burger, no, a kebab. ``Perhaps they thought we were going to take advantage of them,'' one mused.
Simon, meanwhile, was having trouble. The job had run over time, he was £12,000 in the red and his relationship with his clients had deteriorated, admittedly because he kept having to lie to them about when he would finish. At times like this he liked to think of the good times and the particularly fond memory of a wonderful job he had done for one Mrs Jones (cue soundtrack of soul song of the same name and soft focus camerawork) with whom he had a working relationship more reminiscent of a love affair. Unusually, both spoke of each other in glowing terms. He had even given up his golf day to visit her on the pretext of seeing the job. ``When you get me to like you like that, you can have anything you want,'' he purred. On balance, despite being generally roguish, my sympathies were with the builders but this was probably because most of the clients were well heeled and patronising. Should I ever own property, I think I'll make sure everything is perfect before I move in.
Next week's Cutting Edge, at the same time on Monday night, is a must see. The programme will investigate the tragic Chinook helicopter disaster of 1994 which left a couple of dozen deceased top security personnel plastered all over the Mull of Kintyre. Were the pilots to blame or is there more to it? Tune in and see if there's anything new.
The Short Cuts series of Irish films continued with The Big O, the story of Rita (Dearbhla McClelland). She is a young Derry hairdresser, bored with the rut she is in and frustrated in her quest to finally experience an orgasm. ``I'm looking for more than a B&B in Bundoran,'' she laments, as her workmates mercilessly rib her about what she's missing: ``I don't know about you, but I hit more than I miss,'' quips one.
The crunch comes when Rita's boyfriend finally accuses her of being selfish. ``Selfish? I'm the one that's been faking it for four years!'' she erupts. ``Not everyone can be faking?'' one of her workmates slurs later, as the salon staff unwind in the pub. ``No,'' retorts another, ``just women!''
The upshot is that Rita finally seduces a man, has her orgasm and seeing what she's been missing, packs her rucksack to see the world. Like previous programmes in this excellent showcase series for new Irish talent, The Big O was excellent drama. A liberating experience all round. More of the same please, RTE. Much more.
BY LIAM O COILEAIN