I was supposed to be going round to my in-laws today to move a fridge-freezer for them, but I don't need to because my father-in-law has already done it. He shouldn't have- it could have killed him- but he hates to feel dependent on the goodwill of others. I can understand that. I feel rather the same about having the workmen in. Here they are, bashing away at my house, rendering parts of it unusable- and I have to take it and smile, when my instinct (irrational and absurd) is telling me to go boot them off the property and do the job myself. I don't know how people ever coped with keeping servants- especially live-in servants. It would jangle my nerves dreadfully to have strangers always gliding around, appearing spook-like in doorways, doing things for me I could perfectly well do for myself. No wonder the masters and mistresses in Victorian novels are so often bad-tempered and abusive. Servitude is degrading- not only for the servant but also for the served. Prince Charles- reportedly- employs a man to put toothpaste on his toothbrush for him. How do either of them stand it?
I've just been out to rake leaves in the front yard, not because it particularly needed doing, but because it gave me the illusion of control.