This should be a blissful break, but I’m distracted by the roofer’s messages relaying our house’s ongoing problems. My wife, meanwhile, remains firmly on holiday
I
’m sitting on a terrace overlooking a sparkling bay. Directly in front of me fishing boats rock gently on the water and tidy white houses are piled on the hill opposite. I’m looking at my phone.
The video I’m watching is narrated by Michael the roofer, who has just sliced away a section of the flat roof at the top of our house.
“That is roughly where your leak is, where them two dips are,” he says, indicating an area of damp, rotten wood. “Obviously there is an issue of water getting in.”
