My wedding day was fast approaching. All that I needed to do now was transfer my hair straighteners and make-up to the hotel bedroom and then I’d be all set for the ceremony.

The hotel bedroom was palatial. It was about three times the size of a classroom and furnished with beautiful antiques. The only problem was that it could really do with a hoover. I called in the contract cleaner, but he was hopeless. Shirley (yes, that was his name) just added to the mess by leaving a trail of Christmas tree needles across the carpet. When I asked if he could use a dustpan and brush to clear up the mess, he stated that this would be beneath his dignity.

A cleaner who refused to clean? This was ridiculous! I called a supervisor to complain. She regretted that she could not push Shirley because he was “fragile”. The job couldn’t be passed on to the 17:00-19:00 shift either. This was because everyone on that team was an alcoholic. I would just have to accept that the state of room would never reach my exacting standards.

Then something else in the room attracted my attention. Some of the the white ceiling tiles were hanging down. I wondered if I could find a handyman to take a look, or was this just something else that I’d be forced to tolerate?