The green, green grass of home

The man who has just completed my patio does. And so do his employees. I offered them the use of my loo but they were having none of it. It was too clean for them, apparently.

"Don't you worry about us,��? he said, after I'd pointed out the little boys' room, "we won't be dragging our muddy feet through your house. We'll just pee in a bucket. That's what we always do.��?

Despite my reassurances that buckets really weren't necessary - and that I could lay down some dust sheets if he was that worried - he was insistent. There would be no piddling in the Oxley pot. That just wasn't how he did business . . . or should I say HIS business.

Thankfully I never got to see the bucket. Nor did I discover how or where he disposed of its contents.

All I know is that two weeks on I have a nice new patio, a mud-free hallway and a surprisingly lush lawn.

And now, whenever I take a leak at work, the presence of Mr Armitage Shanks reminds me that things could be a whole lot worse.

So what's the moral of this story? Perhaps it's just my way of reminding myself to keep those workplace irritations in perspective . . . and to acknowledge that the grass is not always greener elsewhere.

Except in my garden, that is.