It was a cold, cold day in Woolwich. Icicles hung over the telephone wires, within which, the mybuilder accept confirmation buzzed and jolted to its final location. Ken was a fine plaster and had seen just about everything over the years. Ding. Your offer has been accepted. Ken (as he did for every job) lept with joy and made his way with a smile on his face, over to the delapidated house in which he was to spend the rest of the day. It was then, for the first time ever, his smile cracked like cheap plaster. Ken realised there was no electicity, the dark imposing walls loomed over him, he grimaced in the cold shadows.
"No matter" Ken said to himself. "Wont be the first time someones made me plaster in the dark".
Ken whipped out his trusty tools. Filled his bucket with quality gypsum and with his smile returning set out to work. "Now where's the water" Feeling his way round the house like a blindman searching for his last cigarette, Ken hopelessy searched for that which didnt exist. There was no water, the plasterers lifeblood.
"ok now this guys really annoyed me"
Most mortal men would just give up and go home at this point. Not Ken. With an old school attitude and determination of an oxe Ken braved the bitter cold outdoors collecting all the snow and ice his numb, wavering hands could muster.
With his mage like powers Ken then melted this narley concoction into the finest plaster mix known to man and like a ninga painting shadows in the black of night, the job was done.
Some say Kens never been quite right since taking that job. Others say that Ken is but something of myth and ledgend. I say if your a bad plasterer and you wake in the middle of the night feeling the clasp of a cold hand. . You need to go back and make good on your work.
Ken Bridge Plastering