好色先生TV

Quentin Shears, 48, is a partner in Newt UK, the recently rebranded Hertfordshire subsidiary of US construction giant Gator Corp. While Quentin has been coming to terms with his new masters鈥� work culture, they have been deciding what to do with their new outpost in austerity Britain. Last week, Quentin managed to get away for a week鈥檚 camping in Devon with wife Alison and two children: Imogen, 10, and William, 9 鈥�

We were making good progress. The satnav had given me an estimated journey time of five hours 13 minutes - which I took to be a challenge. After two hours on the road, I was four minutes ahead of the game. My only concern was that the batteries had run flat on everything we鈥檇 brought to plug the children into, which meant that three hours and nine minutes of inane conversation beckoned鈥�

鈥淒addy 鈥︹�� The cry came from directly behind me. Imogen.

鈥淪orry, can鈥檛 hear you!鈥� I tried. 鈥淢usic鈥檚 too loud!鈥� Using my left knee, I discreetly attempted to increase the volume, but Alison beat me to it, turning the stereo off, glaring at me and discarding the CD in a single manoeuvre.

鈥淒addy 鈥� what job do you do?鈥�

This was exactly what I had feared.

This question comes up every few weeks, and always ends in tears, usually while I鈥檓 explaining the New Rules of Measurement.

This time, I decided to keep my answer as brief as possible, to avoid supplementaries. 鈥淚鈥檓 a QS.鈥�

鈥淏ut there鈥檚 no such thing! When I told Mrs Stubbs that鈥檚 what you did, she said, 鈥橞eing curious is not a job鈥�.鈥�

鈥淲hat? Oh for goodness sake.鈥� I was about to launch into a tirade regarding the British education system鈥檚 ignorance of construction when I was struck by a brilliant idea.

鈥淭ell you what. When we get to the campsite, we鈥檒l put the tent up together and it鈥檒l be like a real-life construction project. Then you鈥檒l understand!鈥�

Two hours 57 minutes later, I was standing in the middle of a field with my project team around me. 鈥淩ight, William, you鈥檙e in charge of the poles, which makes you the steel-frame contractor. Imogen, you鈥檙e the cladding contractor - you鈥檙e going to help me put the tent over the poles. Your mother鈥檚 going to be project managing from her deckchair over there, and I鈥檓 the cost consultant. And already I can reveal that I鈥檝e brought this job in under the client鈥檚 拢100 budget, having picked up the tent on the internet from eastern Europe for 拢99.93 including postage!鈥�

After minimal groundworks, the project got under way. The frame went up on schedule and without incident, but when it came to the canvas, the thing seemed to be an entirely different shape to the structure. And I couldn鈥檛 help but notice that there was a pole left over from the first phase of the project. The steel-frame and cladding contractors scowled at each other. 鈥淟et me look at the instructions,鈥� I said, glossing over the fact that they were in Russian. Sadly, my delaying tactic failed to break the tension and, by the time I looked up, the cladding contractor was attacking her brother with the leftover pole. 鈥淐hildren! You can鈥檛 fight!鈥� I shouted. 鈥淭his is an NEC contract!鈥�

But it was clear that the spirit of collaboration was dead, and I had no choice but to send the cladder to sit in the car, leaving me to stretch the canvas into a passable imitation of a tent. Eventually, a little behind schedule and with a few minor design alterations, I was close to topping out. 鈥淩ight, now to secure the structure,鈥� I announced. 鈥淲here are the pegs?鈥�

I looked through the box the tent came in. No pegs. I got into the car, where Imogen was still in exile. 鈥淲e have to go and get some tent pegs to finish the project,鈥� I said.

鈥淥kay daddy, but won鈥檛 that take us over our budget?鈥�

With my knee, I turned up the stereo.

As told to Nick Jones