There’s a man in my downstairs on his knees. (“Not for the first time!”, etc). He’s a carpet fitter, doing my bathroom flooring, and I’ve been treated to some appalling music. I was handing him a cuppa just as the whining dross of Bros (“When Will I Be Famous?”) echoed out, so I said: “They play some terrible old shite on the radio, don’t they?” just a split second before I saw his iPod dock.

I mean, each to his own, and everything, but Bros? By choice? This is the auditory danger you face by inviting workmen into your home when you work from home. Quite apart from the drilling and sawing and whistling. We had builders in a couple of years ago, and we ended up in a battle of the bands, with me cranking up the volume on my Atlantic Soul Legends box set, while Slow-Mo Glen turned the dial on his paint-splattered indestructible Makita radio to raise the burblings and chortlings of Chris Evans (introducing Scouting For Girls again) to health-and-safety-flaunting levels.

Anyone else been tortured by tradesmen’s tunes? Or are any of you lot chippies, plumbers or plasterers » Continue Reading.