My French Antique Mother

Having moved into our new place (much excite) just over a week ago, naturally we have unpacked everything; repainted the walls; fixed and fitted extra necessities and sold half of our belongings. Mother is impatient and doesn't like to hoard. 

The day after moving in, Mother decided she wanted extra plug sockets and several contraptions to cover the wires dangling from the ceiling (Spain don't provide any kind of lighting in new houses and you're lucky if you get an oven). So, Mother asked a friend of hers to recommend an electrician to take a look at the work but unfortunately he was Spanish and evidently had NO clue what to charge for the work and gave us a ludicrous quote. So, our English friends sent us the electrician they use on their boat and thankfully he had a commercial brain and experience.

Fast forward a few days (whilst Mother impatiently panicked that the electricians might break her new home) and the lads from South East London rock up ("late!" - as Mother exclaimed  to me when they hadn't arrived 5 minutes past the ETA).

"FINALLY! Someone I can trust to get the job done! Thank you - now here let me remind you what you're doing." 

Mother leads them through the hallway, 

"Mind that! That's my French antique armoire! It's lovely, isn't it? Careful! It's antique! From France! Do you know, I had to have that shipped to me all the way from France! I've had it for years and now I have to sell it because bl**dy Spain and their stupid architectural designs aren't accurate and now I have to sell it because it doesn't bl**dy fit in here!!! I am furious! Did you know? I am. I am furious! Anyway, be careful, don't damage that while you're here, the man's coming to take it away tomorrow. Well, he said he would call but he hasn't - has he darling?" 

Mother looks at me and I peer over my book to smile and shake my head. She continues; 

"No, well, he's probably sitting drinking beer, bl**dy Spanish siestas getting on my nerves."

Lad 1 and 2 are standing in the hallway, staring at Mother and slowly nodding. 

"Yeah, they're lazy sods aren't they, love. Anyway, we gotta be off at 'bout six so best be telling us what ya want, darlin'."

"What?? Well, you have to get it all done today, I don't want to be disturbed again - you won't believe all the mess we've had with the Spanish technicians in here ... look!" 

Mother exclaims and points at our laundry room door that's been battered to pieces.

"Crikey, what'd they do 'ere?" 

Lad 2 looks perplexed.

"Yes, I know! The 'locksmith' came to fix the broken lock but his 'tool kit' was a pouch with a hammer! He just ran at the door! Like this..." Mother demonstrates.

"Yeah, sounds like he ain't got no trainin'."

Mother continues the house tour of disastrous Spanish engineering before offering them tea. Actually, she reels off the exotic list of Fortnum & Mason teas we have and then delegates the tea-making to me. As usual.

"Right, in here" 

Mother points to the ceiling wires where the lights should be, 

"I want to cover these up - remember I told you, so I bought some nice little boxes like you told me to. Well, actually I chose the round ones with the pretty nodules. [N.B. 'nodules' is such a hideous word! Where did it even come from? Does anyone even know what I mean by 'nodules'? Those little in-and-out decoration-y bits...?] I think they'll go with my French antique table below, don't you? They've got character, you see. Just like that French antique armoire I'm forced to sell." 

Mother slumps into the sofa as she says this.

"Right, love" 

Lad 1 replies, looking at the boxes, 

"yeah, they'll do fine. We'll get started on those then, yeah? See how quick we can get 'em done"

 "Ooooh, nah mate...." 

Lad 2 chimes in with one of those British inhale-sighs, 

"nah, won't be able to drill through that ceiling mate, that's like flour  - it won't hold nuthin' - ceilin' gonna come down, innit mate, nah - can't get a drill through summink like that"

Mother purses her lips and says, 

"Yes, you will. Of course you will - how else will lights get up there? Go on, give it a go - I bet you it'll work. Come on boys - here, use this masking tape..." 

Mother hands the lads the masking tape along with detailed instructions on how to do their job.

A few minutes later and they've successfully installed two out of seven.

Just as lad 2 is preparing the next box, I notice him whip Mother's precious wooden chair from under the piano to stand on. His foot is about an inch from the seat before I hear a shriek...

"NOOOOOOOO!!!!! NO NO NO! STOP! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?!? NO, no, no, no, no, no, no, no! THAT'S MY FRENCH ANTIQUE CHAIR!!! IT'S FRENCH ANTIQUE! GOOD LORD, CAN YOU IMAGINE ..... THAT'S FRENCH ANTIQUE! IT COULD SHATTER INTO A MILLION PIECES, WHAT WOULD HAPPEN.... THAT'S ANTIQUE!! "

Lad 2 leaps backwards, 

"ah, sorry love. You ain't got any ladders 'av ya?"

Mother recovers and hands him some ladders. She begins to tell the story of how she obtained the French antique chair. From France. Shipped. Of course. Very antique. Very French. Very sentimental. Probably worth a fortune. Probably from an old writer's chateau. Possibly owned by the royal family at some point. Blah blah blah.

Having exhausted the possibilities of standing on any more fragile furniture, Mother relaxes. By this, I mean she continues to follow the lads around the house, hovering over them, constantly asking a wide variety of technical questions and being on hand to offer tools. Meanwhile, I resume to my tea and book in the corner.

I am often very confused when it comes to technicians / electricians / plumbers etc in your home. Are you supposed to stand and make small talk to be friendly and polite? Are you supposed to stay out of their way and let them get on with their work? What is the protocol here? I think I followed the correct etiquette.