Highly decorated

We're having Work Done on the house. It warrants capital letters, as it involves major renovation rather than just eg slapping up some sticker murals, or changing the lightshades.

It all started last summer.

Our next-door neighbours have been engaged on a lengthy and all-encompassing renovation project in their house, which included replacing one of their wood-burning stoves.  The stove they took out was not very old, and in excellent condition, so we asked if we could buy it* to fit into our fireplace, and thus be rid of the 1970s sandstone crazy paving fireplace which I have loathed since the day we first viewed the house.

I've been looking through my photos to see if I ever took one of it, but I think I must have tried to crop it out whenever I used a camera in there, as it was so awful. I did manage to capture the magic of a new log burner being installed, though.

Once the chimney breast was denuded of the horrible yellow "stone" and given a new coat of plaster, the rest of the room suddenly looked dreadful in comparison.

Mr WithaY and I had several earnest discussions about What Actually Needs Doing In Here, and each time the list grew longer.  By the start of this year we had decided that the answer to the question "What do we need to sort out" was "Everything, including the electrics."  Time to make some phone calls, then.

The first person to call in any event of this nature, as longer-term readers will know, is Kevin the Decorator.  He came round, looked at the walls and ceiling, listened to our plans and then said "Yeah, I can do all that. Not the plastering though.  I'll give you my mate's number, he's a good plasterer."

So we called the plasterer.  He came round, looked at the walls and ceiling and said "Yeah, I can do all that. Not taking down the ceiling though.  It'll be much cheaper if you take the ceiling down yourselves."  Mr WithaY and I nodded in agreement.  Neither of us has very much experience taking down ceilings, but really, how hard could it be?

I said "At least you don't have to plaster the wall above the fireplace, that's only been done recently."  The plasterer ran his hand over it with narrowed eyes before opining "Yeah. But to be honest, it's a bit shit, isn't it?"  Reader, it was indeed a bit shit.  We opted to have the whole room skimmed.

Once the first blow has been struck, there is no going back.

The first cut really was the deepest. Then it was a festival of hammers and crowbars, and the unstinting practical assistance of our next-door neighbour, who is clearly a bit bored now he's finished renovating his own house.

Mr WithaY spent a couple of days removing nails from the joists, channelling all the electrical and hi-fi cabling where it will be out of sight, and left the room in a fit state for the plasterer to work his magic.

In the meantime, Simon the Electrician came round. I like Simon. He is a thoughtful man, prone to long silences when you ask him questions while he thinks deeply about the answer.  He knows his stuff, and takes electrical things very seriously.  I asked him why he was so meditative in conversation, and commented that he really does like to consider his options before replying.  He looked at me for a long moment, before saying: "That's because with plumbing, if you get it wrong you get a wet floor.  With electrics, if you get it wrong, the house burns down." 

I hadn't though of it in those terms, and with that in the back of his mind all the time, I can understand why he takes a while to get his ducks in a row.

Anyhoo, Simon the Electrician plumbed in cables and so on for the new lighting we decided to install, and went away until there was a ceiling in place he could cut holes in.

And Lo! There was a new ceiling. And it was good.

The plasterer came back, and in what felt like record time we had smooth walls and a ceiling with no visible lumps and bumps. 

A few days for the plaster to dry, Simon the Electrician returned to fit the new lights (with dimmer switches! How posh are we?) and then Kevin the Decorator was back, transforming the room into something which feels like home again.

We moved a chair back in there so Mr WithaY had somewhere to sit and review stuff for work.  I think it feels a bit cluttered now, to be honest.  Maybe the dog basket could go somewhere else.

The ceiling and walls above the picture rail are the same shade of pale green, and the walls below are a darker shade, which looks absolutely gorgeous.  I am very excited about getting our furniture back in there. 

We went for Farrow and Ball paint, which left me in a froth of anxiety about being That Woman, but apparently they are top quality and look superb, so I am prepared to suffer the opprobrium of being middle class as fuck.

I've been in touch with a company who renovate parquet floors, and they will (I hope) be getting back to me to let me know when they could come and restore ours to shiny, non-damaged loveliness.

The downside to all this industry, apart from the GAAAAH HOW MUCH cost of it all, is that the house is almost uninhabitable.  The kitchen is full of furniture (coffer, coffee table, drinks cabinet, multiple sofa cushions, various electronic items), as is the spare bedroom (blinds, curtains, rug, ornaments, clock), Mr WithaY's study (upended sofa, huge box of DVDs, CD cabinet) and the hallway (upended sofa.) 

There's nowhere to sit and eat a meal.  We've been either going out to eat, or pretending we're students/in a hotel and eating upstairs in the bedroom, which is not as much fun as you might think.

The dog has found it all a bit trying, I imagine.  She has taken to coming upstairs to sleep at night - usually she is not allowed upstairs - but as the house is in chaos I am allowing it for now.  The downside to that is that she tends to wander up and downstairs in the middle of the night, and if you get up to use the bathroom (women of a certain age blah blah) at 4am, she leaps up, cavorting around you while she wags joyfully, imagining that you might be about to do something fun.  Idiot.

HOWEVER.  The end is in sight.  The curtains are at the dry cleaner's, the painting is almost finished, the furniture will soon be rid of its thick caking of dust.

Once everything is moved back into the room, we are going to look at the vast WithaY art collection and decide what we want to hang on the walls.  There are several new items from JAPAN (we went, it was great, we're going back, more on this anon) which will be framed and hung as a group, as well as some of the pictures which were in there previously. 

Doing all this - the last time we decorated was in 2003, there was a date and our names written in the wall under the wallpaper** - has made me feel much more positive about making changes to the rest of the house and garden.  Sometimes you can get a bit stuck in your environment, and it feels like it's impossible to move on.  This has been like opening a window in a stuffy room, allowing fresh air in.

In the mean time, our kitchen table looks like this.

Don't judge me.

Cheers!





*As they are the best neighbours imaginable, they gave it to us as a present. 

**Prior to that it was 1975, by the previous owners I assume.

Glass III - The Return

Well, was at home all day today, waiting for the glass repair men to turn up and do my windscreen. Clear skies, light breezes, perfect glass repairing weather.

Kevin the painter and I were getting quite excited by the time the glass repair van arrived, bang on time. The helpful chap I met on Saturday was there, along with another young man who was the "fitter".

The office chap had to come out because it's a two man job and there were no other fitters available. Not from their team, or from any other teams in the whole West Country, apparently.

Anyway, putting that aside, I stood there smiling broadly as they looked at my car. The office chap started poking about with the rubber trim around the windscreen.

"Oh." Pause. "Oh dear." Pause. "I didn't order any new trim. Um." He had the grace to shuffle his feet a bit and look awkward.

I looked at him, then at the trim, then at the fitter, then back at the trim, then at him again, then back at the trim. It was a bit like a Clara Bow film.

"So, let me guess" I said. "You can't fit it today without the new trim?" He shook his head sadly.

"So when can you do it? Tomorrow? Friday? I could arrange to be here on Friday." He shook his head again, even more sadly.

There followed a lengthy and complicated discussion involving my whereabouts over the next fortnight ("No, I'm in Bath that day, no, London that day, no, sorry, Bath again that day, no have to be in the office all those days etc). To be fair, they were trying to fit around my timetable, but it all got very exhausting.

The long and the short of it is that I am now booked in for Saturday 23rd June. I assume June, anyway. I'd better check that.

They are coming HERE.

With the right windscreen.

With the new trim.

With two fitters.

Maybe I should write them a list.

I'm getting quite attached to the broken windscreen now. I shall have to take it out somewhere for our anniversary.

Other news. Fuck all really.

A bit of crap relationship stuff on Second Life. I shall have to stop playing, it is supposed to be fun but I feel like I spend an inordinate amount of time patching things up at the moment. Still, it's just a game, eh?

Kevin the painter is making splendid progress on the house. He has finished the bathroom, which looks fab, and has made a cracking start on the spare room. The ceiling has a coat of white paint, he's fixed the light fitting, the walls are all sanded and the holes filled, and all the woodwork's been prepped.

By Swansea the boy moves fast.

And no, I am not sharing his details. He has more than enough work in our village without us sharing him with Outsiders. A local tradesman for local people.

Mr WithaY rang and left a message to say he was now in Elgin, as part of his work-related Grand Tour of Scotland. I hope he brings me back a stick of rock.

Better go and eat I suppose. I am in no danger of fading away but I don't want to wake up at 4am ravenous.

Chaos theory

I am at my desk for the first time in what feels like ages (Friday last week, in reality.) I am having a frankly mental morning, as I am out of the office from this afternoon until next Monday and it seems as though the world and his dog all want to have "just five minutes" to tell me stuff, ask me stuff and try to give me more work to do.

I am dealing with this by listening to the people who want to tell me stuff, answering the people who ask me stuff and completely ignoring the poor fools who are trying to give me more work. Seems to be a sound approach so far.

The Grand Office Move continues to cause ructions for a lot of the team. Me and my colleague are all right (Jack), because we are unaffected as yet, but the rest of the guys are disgruntled. They came in this morning to find that the accommodation is very cramped, they've been put in the corner they explicitly asked NOT to be in, the lockable cupboards and desk pedestals don't, and most of the chairs are broken. Understandably, they are hacked off.

It is frustrating because there is nothing I can do about it, really. The building Facilities Manager is involved. She is the only person who can get them different furniture, all I could do would be to raise the ante by asking piercing questions in a Lady Bracknell voice. Which I don't believe would be very helpful.

This morning leaving the house was a complete nightmare. For some reason everything felt hugely complicated. In hindsight of course, it wasn't really, but at the time it seemed that way.

Jim and I said our goodbyes last night (he's not a morning person); he plans to move out on Tuesday to go and stay with our mates in Gloucestershire until he can get some work and find a house.

He's been shafted by the change of direction on this HIPS thing. He was lining up work from the beginning of this month but now it won't happen till August, and only 18% of the market will be affected so his projected income has been slashed dramatically. He's planning on finding some temporary job in the interim to keep him afloat until the Government gets its bloody act together.

The decorator should be coming in this week, but he is not sure when exactly, so I have cleared the bathroom out, left the right paint in there (a charming ochre colour, slightly paler than what is in there at the moment) with a little note with my mobile number on it, and am hoping for the best. It all depends on when he finishes his "outdoor job", which will depend on the weather. If it rains, he'll be with me earlier.

I watered all the plants and moved them off the windowledge so hopefully they won't die while I'm away.

I had to make sure all the bins were emptied, the compost bucket thingy was emptied and all the perishable food was out of the fridge, or I'll be coming home on Friday to a hideous stench-filled pit. I also had to make sure I switched everything off that needed to be off, as Jim is not good at this, and would probably leave everything on rather than risk turning off the wrong thing. Fair enough, I suppose.

I drove in to the office with that "what have I forgotten" feeling. I daresay it will become apparent in due course.

Oh, and I managed to wang Mr WithaY's Landrover into our garage door yesterday. I don't think it's very damaged, but it is definitely not quite right. The door, I mean. The Landrover is fine, I didn;t even dislodge any of the accreted crud off the bull bars.

I was shuffling the cars about on the drive, which entailed driving his onto the road, leaving it there, driving mine off the drive, putting Mr WithaY's back on the drive, then putting mine on behind it. His car has a much longer bonnet than mine, plus the bull bars and I misjudged the distance between his car and the garage. There was a resounding "thung" noise, the door got nastily skewed and I sat there thinking "bollocks".

Ah well. Maybe I can fix it before he gets home. I think we have a sledgehammer somewhere.