War Zone

We are in the middle of Day Three of the the Great Granard Bathroom Reno. I call it this because the others on the street who never speak to us have been rubbernecking like mad since the contractors arrived with their trucks and bins and trailer.
We have as builder number One a big husky German called Peter who is deaf and shouts. He loves to talk. To himself if no one else is available. I now know more about his life than I do about my own. He is not being paid by the hour.He also has had a number of closed head injuries and has no short term memory at all.He is an anthropologist's dream.
His boss is a short stout Italian chap with joint and breathing problems.I spend my days listening to what Ram Dass calls the Organ Recital.When one has finished moaning about his aches and pains the other starts up. They should put music to it and take it on the road.
Then we have the MESS.The upstairs landing looks like an explosion in a junkyard. I have to turn a blind eye never mind a deaf ear to the din and the dust.Right now Peter has gone to get his tile saw and said he would be back in less than half an hour. That was well over an hour ago. I know contractors live by their own rules but I have a feeling he may have forgotten he was working here and wandered off to some other project only to find he has finished it.
We are supposed to be all done by Saturday but cleverly they didn't say which Saturday.I will keep you all posted.