Being independent.

My name is Juliet and I am a strong single independent 50 year old woman. Hello there. I have my own cottage, my own car and my own business. I have great friends, many of which I have known for over 30 years, and I have a close loving family, who I adore. I’m confident and I know what I want. So why do I still let some people (okay, men!) knock me down or belittle my ideas?

I have noticed that a few of the tradesmen working on my house over the last year, don’t really appreciate my decisiveness. Understatement. You can tell, with a slight eye roll or sigh, that they are unused to being told what to do by a woman, but having spent a lot of time designing my house, and a lot of time saving the money to do it, I have a vision and I want to stick to it. When my carpenter turned up with completely different shelves and brackets to the ones I’d picked, I felt it was absolutely OK to say it was wrong and to please change it. When my builder ordered the wrong loo and sink for downstairs, saying they were ‘similar’ to the ones I’d picked, I said they would have to be returned and to please get the ones I wanted. I don’t want to ‘settle’ or ‘make do’, and I certainly won’t, “Just wait a few weeks and you won’t even notice the difference”, as my carpenter suggested. I’m a designer, for God’s sake, I will definitely notice the difference.

I’ve been tutted at, I’ve had shrugs, I’ve had mutterings under the breath, and I’ve still stuck to my guns. If it was something logistical like a sink not fitting or a light not being possible, then I listen and take advice, but please don't try and persuade me that something I haven’t chosen will look just as good. I was almost talked out of having a certain wall colour (dusky grey pink) in my bedroom, when my decorator clumsily said, “If you ever get yourself a boyfriend, they won’t want to sleep in a pink room!”. Thanks for that.

When I decided to move the hideous eyesore of a kitchen boiler to my upstairs cupboard, the boiler man stared at me with his hands on his hips and asked me if my husband agreed with me. After a slight pause (and a count to ten) I told him I lived alone. I could see him quickly re-assess the situation and he quoted an astronomical amount for the job. Luckily, I found another brilliant boiler man who did the job for the ‘right’ amount and was utterly charming. This is the thing, I love charming, I like cheeky chat, I like a bit of a flirt, but I don't like misogynistic comments or put downs. I don’t even mind being called ‘luv’ or ‘darling’, which you certainly can’t avoid here, but try and pull the wool over my eyes, do a job badly or think that because I am a woman I can be insulted or walked over, forget it. 

My sister and I were brought up to be independent. We had an amazing childhood being introduced to new things and were encouraged to ask questions, to educate ourselves, to read, to discover. We travelled abroad, went on endless road trips, visited historic sights, museums and galleries and we certainly weren’t children that should be seen and not heard. I was already living on my own at the age of 18 when my parents moved to America, but they made sure I knew how to look after myself, as well as numerous practical things like changing a tyre, reading a map, re-wiring a plug, organising a dinner party and paying the bills. So, it’s hardly surprising that my sister and I have lived our grown-up lives the same, very capable, way.

Last week was particularly trying. The plumber I currently have is wonderful, but it took three attempts to find the right one. The first was going through an awful custody battle and invariably I would find him with his head in his hands, sobbing. I became his therapist for a week and helped him compose emails to his ex, but it was very obvious this was not an ideal solution for getting my bathroom done. The second plumber was good looking and very confident, but he shot down every idea I had and, quite arrogantly, said he knew what was best for me. He never returned emails or phone calls and cancelled the job on two separate occasions, the night before it was supposed to begin. He then quit when I used the word ‘disappointed’ in an email. Ooh that word really does get people riled.

So, my third and final plumber is brilliant, but he brought a man into my house last week, that was anything but. The guy was a flooring expert, his words not mine. He stood there when I asked him questions about laying the bathroom vinyl, checking his phone and grunting. When I tried to get his attention, he scowled at me and said, “Luv, I’ve been doing this for 30 years, just let me get on with it.” So, I did. Two hours later I returned and looked in horror at my butchered £200 piece of vinyl. It was if he had cut it with a blindfold and pinking shears. My plumber and I stood there, open-mouthed and dumbstruck. Without me even saying anything my plumber said he would call him, so I went downstairs to give him a bit of privacy while he railed into the guy. But instead of saying what a crappy job he’d done, I heard my plumber say, “Yeah so you’ve met Juliet. She’s a perfectionist and she’s not happy with the job. I know she’s difficult and scary, and to be honest, I think we’ll be lucky if we escape with our balls intact!” Now, I did laugh when I heard this but then I was a bit peeved. My plumber had basically thrown me under the bus.

It’s easy to blame women for being tricky customers when all we want is a good job done. I chatted to my plumber later about it over a cup of tea and asked him why he hadn’t backed me up. He actually said it was easier to blame it on me than be the bad guy, so at least he was being honest. We talked about the words he used to describe me… ‘Difficult, picky, scary’, and I asked him what words he would have used if I had been a male customer. He thought about it and said, ‘Decisive, strong, confident.’ He then gave me a hug as way of apology.

My plumber is brutally honest but can also accept when he’s said the wrong thing. I wish all men could admit when they have overstepped the mark or said something which has massively upset someone. One of my male colleagues recently said that my passion can sometimes be perceived as aggression, even though the other designers, and more importantly the female clients I was presenting to, had said what a great job I’d done. Don’t get me wrong, this doesn’t happen often enough for me to get a royal bee in my bonnet. I’m not an angry ‘man hater’, I just think life should be fair and equal. I think that’s what feminism actually means nowadays... fairness and equality.

I am living in an area of the world that sometimes feels a bit behind the times, but I have also never met a stronger bunch of independent, creative, outspoken, wonderful women, who are now my friends. The fabulous men in these women’s lives also appreciate them and everything they stand for, and it’s a wonderful thing. I only have a few more weeks of my house being invaded by big, clumsy, olfactory-challenging tradesmen. The mess, chaos and endless noise will soon be a thing of the past and I will be able to look at my little cottage and know that every decision I’ve made was mine, and definitively worth defending.