TEA? Aah, go on. Have one. You know you want to. Will you not have a little cup of tea. Go on. Go on. Go on, go on, go on, go on, go on...

No, it's not a scene from Father Ted, the story of demented priests on a remote Irish island; it's a scene from Mother Jo, the story of a demented woman on a remote planet far away.

The poor man was only trying to decorate the spare bedroom (aubergine and cream, if you must know), but I'm afraid I just couldn't control myself. Every time he turned to dip his brush into his paint pot, there I was, brandishing a steaming tea pot and waving a cup in what I foolishly believed was an alluringly fashion at him.

It got to the point where the poor devil daren't leave the bedroom door even slightly ajar for fear that I would sneakily insert a syringe through the gap in an attempt to feed him tea intravenously.

I wouldn't mind, but I'm not even a tea drinker myself. I'm a coffee girl. I appreciate the nasal-arousing aroma of the freshly ground beans; the aural pleasure of the bubble and hiss of boiling water; and the aesthetic joy that only cool cream swirling in the dark, velvety depths of a shiny new brew can induce.

Okay, so I survive on instant with a splosh of semi-skimmed and a chemical sweetener, but I'm sure I would appreciate the finer qualities of real coffee if only someone would come round to my house every hour on the hour and make me a cup. I'm a sleep-deprived mother of two: I don't have time to wait for grinding, percolating and slow pouring - I need my caffeine now!

Anyway, back to the man cowering in the spare room. It turns out that I am not alone in over-compensating when a workman comes to call. It is not only me that offers far too much tea, hovers annoying in the doorway and doesn't let the poor chap get on with the work he is being handsomely paid to do.

A new survey by someone or other with nothing better to do with their time has found that 60 per cent of UK householders feel uncomfortable when a tradesman plies his trade in their home, and that 91 per cent try to mask their uneasiness with endless cups of tea.

According to the same incredibly useful survey (incredibly useful in the sense that it has given me something to write about), this beverage-related crime against humanity is top of the list of workmen's niggles about their customers.

What could possibly come anywhere near this in terms of sheer torment, I hear you cry. Asking if they want a choccy biccy perhaps or, heaven help us, insisting quite firmly that they don't stub their fags out on the children and offering the family cat as a possible alternative?

No, second in their list of complaints is "customers answering the door in their dressing gowns".

What sensitive souls these workmen must be. How difficult it must be for them to be stuck in spare rooms, painting walls, filling cracks and doing all manner of technical things with a spanner, when all they really want to do is run through flower meadows, composing seasonal poetry and generally avoiding nasty customers who force them to partake of umpteen cups of tea while wearing night attire during daylight hours.

I can only apologise on behalf of customers across the country for our crass philistinism and our failure to take into account workmen's need for solitude and space to think in a dressing gown-free environment. If only I could think of some way to make it up to you.

I know, how about a cup of tea? Aah, go on.

Updated: 09:33 Monday, April 12, 2004