A poem inspired by a friend who needed a hole in her ceiling repairing, and found the plasterer she needed on a dating app. Performed at the Jenny Lind, 2nd December 2023.

I filled my Tinder profile in
As truly as I could;
Age: well past it. Hair: not much.
It wasn’t looking good.

A week went by without much luck;
I hardly got a bite,
Till under job, I added ‘tradesman’ –
Then they all swiped right.

Painting, woodwork, plastering,
I could do it all;
Plumbing and electricals –
No job too big or small.

I never realised my skills
Could make me so appealing,
But offers now came pouring in
From girls with holes in ceilings.

Women wanting shelving up
Were drawn to my toolbox;
They kept me busy gardening,
And fixing broken locks.

‘Own tools, and my own transit van’ –
The business this was bringing!
Any time of day or night,
My phone was always pinging.

They weren’t deterred by my profile pic,
They cared what I could do;
Could I grout tiles, they asked with smiles,
Or fix the leak in their loo?

I had no need for marketing
Trust-a-Trader was out
Check-a-Trade could sling its hook
Tinder had more clout

But the girls weren’t keen on going out;
What they found exciting
Was realising I could fit
Sinks and recessed lighting.

My typical date just liked a cuddle
She’d want a man to spoil her;
But more urgent was the growing puddle
Underneath her boiler.

She’d like a little bit of kissing,
But as we stood there necking,
I’d notice something missing;
She was thinking of new decking.

Soon I came to feel exploited;
I wanted some romance,
But all I got were contract dates
Leading me a dance.

So now if I like her, I’ll work very slow;
But if there’s no spark going on,
Bugger the plaster, I’ll work a lot faster –
It’s Bish-Bash-Bosh and I’m gone.

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