I discarded my keys in the bowl beside the door, removed my hat and coat and let out a satisfied sigh. Another hard day at the... Well, I don't really do anything. I go out, smartly dressed, and eat sandwiches for 7 hours before walking home. But I digress.
After a hard day at the, well, park bench I liked to sit on, it was nice to come home and relax. Of course, and you're probably ahead of me here, I was not to receive the pleasant evening in front of the television I'd hoped to enjoy. In my kitchen I wandered lonely like a cloud, hoping to make myself a refreshing cup of coffee to feed my horrible addiction. The addiction is to heroin rather than coffee, of course, but I buy strange, opium-based coffee beans that help me get through the day.
But I digress again. In the kitchen, there were two men. They were large, handsome muscular men wearing only tight trousers and braces that crossed their oiled, well-toned chests. On their heads, they had little yellow builders hats. I assumed, therefore, they were some kind of sexy builders. Or someone had sent me man-strippers again. It happens remarkably frequently.
"Evening," I addressed the men casually. I wasn't in the mood for their well-toned, homoerotic shenanigans.
"Evening," One replied. The other smiled and nodded politely, "Your conservatory's coming along nicely, we should be finished by Friday."
"Oh," I mumbled weakly, "That's good."
Excusing myself, I slipped into the back yard. Nope, no half-build conservatory there. I checked the rest of the house - nothing on the side, on the garden shed, or on the roof. No-one was building me a conservatory. None of the neighbours were building me a conservatory. There was no conservatory.
I returned to my house, angry and confused - like every other time I see an attractive, semi-dressed man I suppose - to confront my intruders.
"Alright gaffer?" The builder greeted me. "Happy with how things are coming along?"
"Well lads, sort of. I was just wondering... There's, erm... There's no actual building work going out there. And I don't remember hiring you or anything."
The men recoiled, their faces convulsing in terror. Shocked, pale and panic-stricken, they raced to the back yard.
I watched from my kitchen window as they raced around my back garden. They were still very greasy and very half-dressed, and a few passers-bye had stopped to watch the hi-jinx. A passing cat hopped over my fence and stopped as well, watching the scene for a few moments before turning tail and fleeing. The builders, having fallen first into a furious row over who was to blame for the lack of conservatory, had now fallen onto each other in the middle of the lawn and engaged in a spirited wrestling match. Their greasy bodies sweating and bumping together, they disrupted several of my garden gnomes and flattened a rather promising ant-hill. The onlookers had started to cheer and take pictures as the fight continued to unfold, and a small bus filled with elderly nuns had stopped nearby. I shrugged, and having made myself a cup of coffee, folded out a lawnchair and sat down to watch.
Time dragged on, and day turned laboriously to night. The mysterious guests wrestled long into the evening, and around midnight, I fell asleep. When I woke up, they were gone, and to this day I still know not who they were or why they came to my house. There was, however, a freshly-built conservatory attached to my house in the morning. It's really very nice, and no-one charged me for it.