Malcolm gave her a look of disgust as if he was about to deny the fact that he was absolutely clueless as an electrician, and liable to accidentally kill himself quite soon.
"Of all the ways to go, I don't think fucking home improvement is cutting it," he admitted. "I thought we were going to live in the woods, anyway. The fuck you want electricity for, you posh twat? What are you gonna do with electricity? Watch fucking soaps and fucking- blow dry your hair?" he retorted, aware that it was a ridiculous accusation. Weird rants were his go-to, where he felt comfortable.
"I thought you were meant to be all women's liberation and all that, why don't you fucking do it yourself? No, you're going to have to call in a fucking- expert." He was being a twat, he knew that, but she was probably used to it by now.