Today we are having our electrics checked by Aldo, a local electrician. We don’t have a problem with them, but since parting company with our previous builder we think it prudent to do this as we’ve since been told he’s not authorised to fit electric.
Aldo looks more like a Calabrian than an Abruzzese, he’s about 5 feet and a fag end and has a voice that sounds like he’s been breathing in helium. He’s a sort of miniature, Italian Joe Pasquale. He sets too unscrewing the plugs and immediately discovers exposed wiring, he points this out whilst asking why the cable from the meter isn’t in any conduit. I explain that towards the end of his employ our previous builder became very lazy and the quality of his work suffered too. Aldo secures the cable to the meter then discovers that one of the kitchen plugs is broken despite it still being fitted, making it unsafe.
We have a moment where he tries all the main switches and as he can still hear music he can’t understand why there’s still electricity running through cables, he scratches his head and I smile as I tell him that the iPod dock is charged up and not plugged into the supply. I ask him if he can fit me a plug downstairs and also if it’s possible to have smaller centre light fittings so that my lampshades I brought from England can be fitted. He rummages in his tool box and the iPod shuffles and Love Story by the Au Pairs begins to play as he disappears down the stairs.
Twenty minutes later my lampshades have been fitted and he’s sweeping up the plaster where a new double plug has been fitted. As he drives away I make a mental note to contact our geometra who okayed the original electrical work and tell him I’ll be talking to my lawyer.