Wealthy homeowners planning renovations have architects and contractors bid for the job. They also conduct interviews and draw up shortlists of likely candidates.
I went through no such process. My contractor was recommended by a friend and my young architects belonged to a design company whose work I had long admired. Crucially, though, I hired them because they were trustworthy, affordable and likeable.
That doesn't mean we haven't come to blows, but the scraps have not resembled those I had with a previous contractor. Four years ago I invited Mighty (by name, not by nature) into my first-floor flat at the introduction of the real estate agent who sold me the place. I should have known better. The buffoon almost sabotaged the deal by trying, minutes before the provisional agreement was to be signed, to gouge more money out of me. I no longer speak to him or to Mighty, who took weeks simply to build my bathroom plus a few more to undo the damage. The last thing I recall saying to him, before slamming the door and locking myself out, was: 'Call yourself a Christian!'
I have nothing against his religion. I lobbed that in, weighted with an expletive, because during the time he took to complete the project he tried to convert me. Come to think of it, I hired him because he was a churchgoer. I also admired his shiny shoes.
His appearance should have warned me about his modus operandi. All he seemed to do was find itinerant men, pay them about HK$600 a day and field irate phone calls when things went wrong. Much did. Instead of constructing a tub in my bathroom I was given a swimming pool (which, admittedly, I've grown to like). Whoever built it didn't bother to look at my drawings or even use a measuring tape: the off-centre plughole is proof. The bath taps were also installed so low that water bounced off the rim, and the water heater - which I later discovered was designed for kitchen use - produced deliciously hot 'showers' only if single droplets were allowed to fall. Then there was the mystery of the toilet-roll holder. With no one owning up to installing the contraption where even long-armed swimmer Michael Phelps couldn't have reached it, I will never know the reason behind its placement.
Those were only blips, mind. What led to the unkind farewell was the bathroom floor.