The wife was up at Pine Hill Dairy earlier this week getting merrily soaked in the rain. A nice gentleman suggested she seek shelter as “we’re all getting older”. And she perked back: “I don’t know ‘bout that. I feel very young!”
So why is the lady suddenly so sprightly sprung?
In her own enthusiastic words: “Tomas is the best thing that has happened in a long time!”
More on that later. The two most successful entities on earth are the Jews and the insurance companies. For two reasons: they write the rule books; and they get their authority straight from God.
Insurance is wonderful. You pay a “small” amount every year for that warm feeling of being “covered”.
And you and your insurance company can have a happy lifetime relationship, almost like marriage, unless you go and spoil everything by actually having a disaster. Which is the equivalent in marriage of getting caught parked with a Bush Hill filly on a moonlight night.
Then everything falls apart. You suddenly discover you’re at the mercy of endless “clauses”, and none of them is Santa.
Tomas ripped off the gallery roof, did major damage to bedroom and living room roofs. All my books soaked. But I’ve been paying house insurance since 1979. Never had a claim. I was “covered”. Don’t laugh.
The “assessor” arrived. The house is insured, he said, for its true value. My claim for damages is only slightly higher than what they estimate.
I felt I was home and dry. Or at least would be dry when the roof went back on. Please don’t laugh.
Then he taught me the facts of life. Of course, Mr Hoad, there is a “deductable” which means that you have to pay the first two percent out of your pocket. Your claim for $1 400 for all the precious books you’ve accumulated in your lifetime is more than reasonable. But there’s a $1 500 minimum on house contents so you get nothing there.
But the real lashes, Mr Hoad, are in what we call the “average” clause. This comes down direct from God, you can probably find it in Nahum or Habbakuk, and means simply that the “average” homeowner must be a real jackass if he thinks we’re going to actually pay for his repairs.
You see, Mr Hoad, you’ve been paying insurance premiums on the present value of your house.
But God, who resides in America or somewhere, says it must be insured for the value of rebuilding a new house of this size. Probably in Beverley Hills.
Not only that, Mr Hoad. We frankly don’t care a sh** if you could rebuild this house for its present value or less by shopping around for materials, working with a small contractor or whatever.
We value this house at what a big-time contractor would charge for a house this size. God says it must be so. Now sign the paper and stop wasting people’s valuable time.
He didn’t use those words, of course. But I took the 30 per cent reduction and held my piece. You can’t fight God.
However, for the wife, Tomas is a dream come true. “Ten years I’ve waited to get this house fixed up. Now we’re going the whole hog!”
The contractor Lawrence and his crew are the best. He calls her “Mums” and is a master at suggesting little extras here and there.
Our modest verandah is now a “deck” where you could land the Concorde or hold the calypso semis.
All well and good. But you know the saying: give your wife an inch and she’ll look for a better-equipped lover. Suddenly there are hints that “things are going to be different around here”: no more walking around naked or sitting on her new cushions without pants; the old “junk” has to go. Or maybe she said “skunk”. I don’t know.
Alas, a little Tomas goes a long way.
• Richard Hoad is a farmer and social commentator.
