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Having done a night shift at my voluntary job last night, I finally went downstairs for breakfast mid-morning when most of our builders had gone off for a bit, presumably for an all day breakfast at a local café. This is what I saw.

He didn’t move for ages and, at first amused, I soon became rather concerned for this poor man, face down in my garden. I was seriously considering calling an ambulance when he finally did move.

The Boywonder presently appeared on the scene and reported that he had seen this builder, who is Lithuanian I think, asleep propped up against a brick wall elsewhere on the building site that is currently our house.

Who knows what the story is here? The Boywonder speculated that perhaps he has children and is always sleepy, which says something interesting about life in our family, I think. My husband will fall asleep at the drop of a hat, he’s always ridiculously tired. So am I, actually, but I can usually push myself through it.

I wondered whether this poor man has another job all night and then arrives at our house to work all day, catching a a nap as and when he can. No wonder he’s so keen on the black coffee that we offer a couple of times every day.

I wonder who he is, what he does, when he came to the UK, what he did back in his own country. It’s making me anxious, actually.

I’m not casting aspersions on our building contractor, none at all. He’s obviously a decent man and, from what I can see, treats his gang with respect. On a couple of occasions when it’s been warm and sunny he’s gone off and brought ice creams for the team.

But how precarious must this man’s existence be, that he has to grab a sleep, face down on a piece of plywood spread on builders’ sand while his colleagues are off at their elevenses?