The journal of Paul M. Watson.

Friday, March 03, 2006

Bricking

A new 3 series BMW pulls up to a building site across the way. Bright, shiny, kitted out with mag-wheels and obviously packing one of the faster engines in the range. The driver's door opens and...

A man in workmans blues, paint spattered shirt, rough boots and a yellow helmet climbs out. He walks up to the building site and begins his day of hauling bricks up to the second level.

He isn't the foreman, he isn't a surveyor, he isn't a client checking out the site. He is a bricklayer and he drives an expensive car.

Looking down the road I notice all the other cars, a good dozen of them. Most new, most expensive.

Builders get paid a fortune in Ireland, bricklayers especially. Back home in South Africa a bricklayer is lucky if he can afford a train in to work. The rest hop on the back of the foreman's bakkie. In Ireland a building site has to have ample parking for all the individual cars that the workers drive in. Back home they have to have space for the death-trap buses that bring the workers in from the townships.

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