In Britain, the Polish plumber has become something of a national treasure over the past few years they charge less than the Brits and take fewer tea breaks... and occasionally date clients

In Britain, the Polish plumber has become something of a national treasure over the past few yearsu00a0they charge less than the Brits and take fewer tea breaks... and occasionally date clients

Sachin Branche, my next-door neighbour, had told me to expect a surprise. Knowing Sachin, I thought this meant the Polish plumber he'd recommended might invite me to a book festival.

At 7.30 am on Tuesday, however, a woman, one Anna Karasiewicz, turned up at my doorstep. There I was, with morning breath and stuff in my eyesu2026 observing a goddess.

"Shall I come in?" she asked. She was wearing a khaki shirt with sleeves rolled up, and combat pants. In one hand she held an enormous toolbox.

"So, you have a sink problem," she said, stepping inside.

"Among other things," I said, ushering her to the kitchen.

"My god!" she said, with what I presumed was a south Warsaw inflection. "You need a cleaner not a plumber."
She made for the trap pipe.

"This is disgusting. You are single?"

"Yes," I said.

"Homosexual?"

"No."

"Gay men are tidier. You are an animal, right? Grrrr!"

"Yes, I am an animal," I mumbled. If she had specified kangaroo I would've said yes.

"Let's blitz this place," she said.

"Did she just say that?" I thought, thinking god had UPS'd a cleaner.

"Knew that would wake you," she said. "I need a bucket."

I watched her poke around with the sink trap. She pulled out some gunk. Then she charged me u00a385.

"You could've done that yourself. Next time just send me the money."

She washed her hands.

"Would you like to go for a date?" I said.

"What?" she said.

"Dinner, a date," I said.

"With who?"

"Me."

"No," she said. "You are an animal."

After my girlfriend left, I kept away from women without Celia I'd be celibate. Now here I was, hitting on the plumber. The next day I left her a message saying my boiler was not working. She didn't get back. I said my drain was blocked. No answer. The flush is not working nothing. I started running out of plumbing problems.
Then, finally, a text arrived: "Up for that D8 Mr str8?"

Naturally I sent her a text back. That evening we went to The Sanitarium, a members club in Chelsea. Phil Bender was there, the comedian. She handed him her card: "Polski Plumber. Anna Karasiewicz. Chif ecexutive".

The chif and I got tipsy and kissed. We ended up at her shoebox apartment in Notting Hill. She refused to come to mine. (Couldn't resist checking the taps at hers great water pressure.) We kissed, violently. We tumbled onto her bed and took each other's tops off. I was overwhelmed.

"What's the matter?" asked Anna.

"Nothing," I said, not letting on that George Bush Jnr had joined the coalition of the unwilling.

I backed away, upset. To save face I pretended I was having a turn. I put my Superman T-shirt back on and, to her amazement, left.

The next day I saw Sachin in his driveway.

"How's your plumbing?" he said.u00a0