My grandmother used to say it: "Mind your Ps and Qs!" I was never quite sure why. Or even what they were - though Wikipedia has a few suggestions over here. Inspired by Sian's great post A Few Fs for Fursday, we (me and Himself) have had a few of our own Ps and Qs this weekend ...
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P for Panic (as in Total Panic) when The Architect decided on Friday, out of the blue and without any consultation, to call a halt to all work on the extension so that a load of cavity drip trays could be inserted into the walls of the existing house. Thousands of pounds of additional expense - ours, not his. Apparently he woke up in the night and thought it might be a good idea. I've been wondering if some sleeping pills might make a nice Christmas pressie.
Q for Querying and Questioning (as in Querelously) by us and the builder as this would mean two additional weeks' work when the build is five weeks late already, no hope of finishing and getting my parents in by Christmas, the bags of render outside in the drive going off and having to be paid for twice and the renderers - booked for Monday - compensated. Plus the real prospect of the front walls collapsing when they knock holes in the already soft and open-to-the-elements blockwork to insert said drip trays. That'd be additional Ps for Propping up the Place with big Poles, then.

P for Pardon? (as in Pardon-You've-Got-To-Be-Joking) when the smiley kitchen people told us it would cost us £740 to have four pieces of worktop fitted by their installers. No, that was in addition to the cost of the worktops themselves (which are less than half of that). They sent us off to their nice cafe with vouchers for a free cup of coffee to think about it. The thinking took less time than the drinking.
Q for Quandary (as in Quite a ...) when it was discovered that the two missing external doors which didn't turn up with the rest of the door-and-window order would be further delayed. A lot. Because they'd forgotton to make them. But we'll put them on a priority order for you. That'll mean only two months till they're ready.
P for Polishing Off (as in Pouring down one's throat) a bottle of best plonk. It was surprisingly good at numbing the pain. Nuther bottle, anyone? Hiccup.
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(What happened? The Architect has backed down, the builders have heaved a sigh of relief, the worktops we will fit ourselves (Himself is delighted at the prospect of purchasing a circular saw for the job - an additional toy tool he's wanted to play with for ages); and the doors will be supplied more quickly by someone else. But I wouldn't stop holding your breath just yet, if I were you. I'm not. Though holding your breath and trying to swallow two Neurofen at the same time is no mean feat ...)