Estimator no 8 arrived en masse - 3 of them: one very old and smelling of stale alcohol; one young man who was, first extraordinarily rude about the number of books I have, then upset by the sight of a toad lying by the front door step, which reaction became more acute and verged on the messy when he realised the toad was headless (the headlessness wasn't very pleasant I admit, but the boy was so obnoxious that his discomfort only delighted me); and the estimator proper who was very small, and stank so strongly of wine and cats that he's made the cottage reek. I didn't bother to show him everything, couldn't get rid of them all quickly enough, and am now typing in the eye of the hurricane I have created by opening all windows and doors as wide as possible on what is akin to an evening in March.