We had an earthquake yesterday. Not a huge one, but a little bigger than the normal. Sometimes in the past I’ve not been sure if they were earthquakes or just the builders downstairs doing something that shook the building a lot. Other people felt yesterday’s too, so it wasn’t in fact our almost-resident-by-now builders.

I am utterly fed up of all the dust downstairs and the undressing stares every time I venture outside. As much as the builders irritate me though, I also feel equally awful about their conditions. Yesterday we came home to find the pathway totally blocked by a man cutting stone (of course moving a metre to the side would have been unthinkable, it’s workmen who have right of way, not residents). Mr S (here read Supernegotiator) tried to point out to the foreman (here read man who sits on a chair and watches the men work) that they could cut the remaining stack of stone tiles to the side, to no real avail.

The poor man cutting the stone was holding the cutter with bare hands, the stone in place with his sandaled foot with the effluent dust flaring up into his eyes and lungs, as he had no protective facial gear on. This is absolutely normal and indeed it may be argued that this man is lucky: he has a job and as stone cutter is probably paid more than the others.

Whether he’s lucky or not, it’s an uncomfortable argument.