It’s been a hell of a year for us, but I am grateful for your support in sharing our journey and sympathising and advising when we were in need of consolation or information.
After Mr BW’s Mum died in January, we decided to go all out to finish our building works (at least a year ahead of our original intentions), sell her house and settle her estate, and sell Coven Sud. Despite the Universe’s best efforts (for which read tardy builders, architect omissions, and four sets of buyers whose aspirations proved – often after many weeks – not to be backed by adequate finances), to quote Mr BW, we are finishing the year in a Meat Loaf fashion: Two Out of Three Ain’t Bad. Although the most important one still hasn’t re-sold, which still leaves us in a quandry.
On a wider front there have been wars, viruses, inflation (especially fuel and food), strikes, and ongoing idiocacy from politicians of all colours. And the end of the second Elizabethan Era. Climate change (climatic chaos) is progressing much faster than most foresaw, but it doesn’t seem to be driving adequate behaviour change or timely action from governments.
I’m glad that we now live in a beautiful and peaceful area, away from the madding crowd, and that our lives aren’t ruled by social media group think, pressures, and comparisons.
Hopefully next year will be more tranquil and we will be in control of our space again, so can return to living according to our aspirations, ethics and values, and get back to simplifying, stepping back, and being properly creative again (I’ve found it impossible to be creative with other people constantly and unpredictably intruding into my physical and mental space).
The star of the year has been Mr BW, who has kept me sane, kept the builders on their toes, dealt with official bodies and estate agents, all while seemingly completing more practical work himself than everyone else put together. I’m hoping that next year he may finally be able to slow down (but I’m not sure he knows how).
This year in three words: sad, building, busy.
Aspirations for next year in three words: creative, relaxing, calm.
What three words sum up (a) your 2022 and (b) your hopes for 2023?
Month: December 2022
… but instead we are busy painting.
This involves 60 litres of matt white trade emulsion. The ceiling is 22 feet up. We have a scaffolding tower (delivered without enough cross-brace poles and guardrails for the platform, but we have used saved-from-the-skip wood to improvise), and a bucket on a rope for sending stuff up and down.
We always hang the majority of our cards on the stairs. Which presented a problem as the stairs don’t get delivered until 9th January, so we had to dangle the cards from our substitute stairs. They are getting dripped on from above, which for those with snow doesn’t matter, but those not including snow have been irrevocably changed.
I’m the one at ground level. The runner.
Mr BW is the one trying not to impersonate Nigel. How can that be 12 years ago?
With added rainbow:
It was the hens’ dinner actually.
I got a bit tired of people sending me pictures of their dinners yesterday, so sent this back to them.
The Black Familiar was in a generous mood yesterday and shared the spoils of her morning’s hunting. She left a mouse present just inside the garage door, which I trod on when going out to the freezer. I told her firmly to move it, and she picked it up again, then dropped it right on my foot. I then shouted at her to remove it, and she disppeared to a far corner, from which emanated crunching sounds. Who else got a mouse for a present?
Who else cringed at the gigantic grammatical error in the first 30 seconds?
What is the world coming to when even the Royals can’t be relied on to uphold The English Language?
I hope that you have a wonderful festive season filled with happiness, joy, love, and plenty of cheer.
We watched the ISS go over (between the clouds and drizzle) at 7.12am and wondered when they celebrate.
Thoughts go out to those who are ill, or have loved ones who are ill.
And lastly, here’s to absent family and friends. You are missed.
I’m still coughing and spluttering, because it takes me a lot longer to get over viruses than it takes Mr BW. I was also violently sick for two hours in the night. This morning I feel like a cow has kicked me in the stomach and a sheep has kicked me in the back (I’m guessing that sheep kick softer than cows).
Given that all I ate yesterday that Mr BW did not was one raw mushroom and one raw sprout, and those 10 hours before I was sick, it would not appear to have been due to food poisoning.
I will save you the picture for this Advent Horror.
I was warned by several of my older friends that ‘things change health-wise, and reaction-wise’ after 60, and they weren’t wrong. I hadn’t actually thought it would only take a week though.
Having filled, rubbed down, cut off, coved, painted and fitted the window blind over the past couple of days, today Mr BW is fitting the cloakroom combi toilet/sink/cupboard unit. I reckon there is a bigger pile of supplies, white paint, tools, fixings, skirting board and panelling than in our local Homebase. Mind you, our nearest Homebase should actually be called Cushionbase, because that seems to be its main stock line, and it doesn’t open until 9am! What self-respecting DIY store doesn’t open until 9am?
I am wandering around in a dressing gown like a spare part and really must get on and wrap Mr BW’s presents before I fall asleep. Luckily I made all the savouries and mince pies, cranberry sauce, brandy butter, and fruit salad, earlier in the week, because if I’d left it until today (as I often do) it wouldn’t be happening.
What are you doing today?
Only one speedchecker would work, and that wouldn’t give me an upload speed.
Hopefully there will be a happy ending to this saga within the next 5 hours… stay tuned.
If so, that will do nicely as a 30th anniversary of meeting Mr BW present. I think he still has the tie, but I think/hope it has run out of battery…
Later: Oh dear. It’s only gone up to 1.34MB and 0.34MB upload. The technician could not check out the problem as he (said he) was only here to relocate the line (which Mr BW and the builder had already 98% done) which involved fixing 2 wires together (and wrapping them messily in duct tape) and putting on a new internal socket. I think that was probably because we were his last job before he was on holiday for 10 days and quarter to two was his self-defined going home time. I can feel several hours of my life disappearing on hold to BT trying to get it sorted…
A bit later still: Wow, BT’s fault service, now accessed via text message and callback from tech support in Ireland, all within three quarters of an hour, is great. Apparently the technician who attended who was so keen to get to his holiday failed to check that the landline was working (it now isn’t, but we didn’t know as we don’t use it) and shouldn’t have used duck tape (yes, we’d guessed that). “He will get his arse kicked by his boss!” was the comment made. Still, we now have updated software in the broadband hub, and 2.37MB speed, which should increase once they have been back, before the end of the year.
I never thought I’d be excited by a 2.37MB broadband speed. What’s yours?
The shortest day. Less time for unfortunate things to happen.
Or so we thought.
The day started well with a beautiful sliver of moon just rising as we arose this morning. It was so small and the air so crisp that you could see the whole of the moon, even though it was only a small sliver.
Now we have to add another visit from the joiner to our list of ‘outstandings’. He was sent with one strip too few of architrave for the door frames. You could not make this stuff up. He made a good job of rehanging the three doors (it’s lovely to be able to reuse the old wooden doors from the demolished porch from the original house), and adding the new handles and locks we’d provided.
Plus, he was so pissed off with his boss this morning cutting his winter holiday from ‘off until 9th’ to ‘off until 3rd’ due to ‘pressure of work’, and so pleased with the freshly baked mince pies and sausage rolls (all vegetarian and gluten free, not that he knew or cared) that he was fed, that we did do rather well for freebies to help with the stair erection. I’d never heard of anti-squeak glue, but it is a thing.
And then… it turned up, after just 15 days (good service), but it was BLACK and not BLUE. I am not impressed. At least it still speaks of ‘Her Britannic Majesty’. One of the last, I’d imagine.
A very happy Winter Solstice to you all.
Today was the day we have been waiting for, even though we didn’t realise it was going to be.
As in, as I always say, Karma will always prevail in the end, all one has to do is wait.
The Building Inspector wasn’t happy with several things. Meaning that things have to be rectified at builders’ and electricians’ expense before he will sign things off. Not major things, or things that will cause us inconvenience, or prevent us getting on with the things we have to do to finish things off, but things that will cost them time and money to rectify. Things we had already queried.
As I’ve said before, the only thing the builder has done in a timely manner (the 10 week build is now on 22 weeks and 2 days) is submit his invoices. Given that most trades have now finished for the festive season and won’t be back until 9th January, he’ll do quite a bit more waiting for the next tranche 🙂
The Building Inspector (who is from the Pays Bas, and lives up to all the national stereotypes) looked at the leftover decorations from the weekend. “Oh, I have missed the party!” he said. “No, we all missed the party, because we had to cancel it because the building work wasn’t finished in time!” I said, with feeling, looking pointedly at the builder.
A bit later, I wondered aloud, in the direction of the builder, whether the builder’s joiner would actually turn up to fit the 3 doors tomorrow, as agreed. “You know,” I said, “we have a bingo card of all the excuses you people come up with!” I paused for effect then reeled off all the whoppers we have been fed. “Van problems, van breakdown, mechanic can’t get parts to mend van, van in accident, lad cut finger off, lad has covid, lad has flu, lad has food poisoning, double booked, triple booked, job over-ran, have to go to court, have to go to the doctors, have to go to the dentist, have a hospital appointment, can’t get the materials needed, deliveries can’t be made in time, got held up on another job, had to go to a meeting, had to go on a recertification course, had to go on a safety training day, had to take the kids to school, had to stay at home to look after a sick child, had to go on a briefing day for the next job…” He had the decency to look slightly embarrassed, and for the first time ever didn’t attempt a justification. “So, no excuses, there are none we’ll believe, we’ll see him tomorrow!” I stated firmly as he left.
I had another go at his youth. “This wonderful dehumidifier,” I said, gently stroking its white glossy case, “It’s 30 years old, it’s absolutely saved the day of late, it’s the most useful 30 year old thing around here!” He again sensibly said nothing. I’m not sure if that one was too clever for him, or whether he knew that he was beaten.
The thing is, there is nothing left to do that Mr BW can’t do, and everything left to do can be done for less than the outstanding monies, which (even if the builder does do the outstanding work) will now anyway only be paid when the Building Inspector has finally signed everything off. So, for the first time, we have the upper hand, I can say absolutely anything I like (and there’s plenty more I’d like to say, and will, given the opportunity) and if he chooses to walk away, he will be the loser. Ha!
RIP Terry Hall of The Specials. We could do with some incisive and insightful music like that right now, in these crazy times, couldn’t we?
And it came to pass that on the twelfth day the snow did goeth away, and in its place there was rain.
Which did showeth up on the dried plaster:
Fuck.
Luckily the Building Inspector is coming out in the morning for the (hopefully) penultimate inspection, so the builder’s usual, “Oh it’s condensation!” is likely to come under scrutiny, particularly as the plaster was totally dry before it rained, and we have been running the dehumidifier night and day for 3 weeks now.
My 7th decade starts today.
Having to renew my passport made me realise that I am looking older. Looking at the state of my hand while we were ill and in bed last week made me realise that I have old lady hands, if I don’t put cream on twice every day (and we were feeling so awful it was all we could do to eat grapes, and stagger to the loo occasionally, so cream was not applied as regularly as normal).
It seems strange to think that it was a whole 10 years ago since I spent my 50th at Kirstenbosch in South Africa (our first visit there). Where does time go?
Today we are doing nothing at all, looking at the last of the snow, and feasting on the goodies we have been storing up. And maybe looking at those photos from 2012.
The deer was in the drive at Coven Sud again this morning.
We think it is eating acorns. We hope it is not also eating the garden: that is pretty secure behind gates and thick hedges, but, it goes to show how bold they have got with no-one constantly around.
Unfortunately, this was the time that the oil delivery should have been turning up. It did eventually, and hopefully tomorrow there will be heat again.
It’s the last hours of my 6th decade. All through my life, with a Witchday 8 days before the FOTCR™ I have never had all my cards on the correct day, no matter how early people have posted.
This year Royal Mail have excelled themselves and I have so far received just 2 cards.
We also have only 5 FOTCR™ cards, and two of those are from the same aunt who is accusing the other remaining aunt of having dementia. Usually by this time of year we’d have 50 or so cards.
My renewal passport is also stuck in the system. It took 11 days for a first class signed-for letter containing my old passport to arrive at the passport office. I currently have no photo ID (excepting a Costco membership card, but I doubt that counts).
I’m afraid I have absolutely no sympathy with the current behaviour of many employees of public sector and once-nationalised companies.
Striking when you have a stable job, with excellent benefits (including final salary pensions), and, in many cases, are on a pay scale that gives annual increments in addition to a pay rise, when others working in small companies are getting absolutely no pay rise at all, is selfish and immoral.
Some of these strikers, approaching retirement, or those who may need to take ill-health retirement in the next couple of years, are going to be in for a shock. I remember a teachers’ strike back in the 1980s. I was in a union that did not strike (AMMA), and my colleagues in the NUT gave those of us not striking a hard time. Until one of them, due to retire at the end of the summer term, received her pension forecast. £32 a month less than it would have been, had she not taken strike action. With final salary pension schemes, the final pension amount paid is based on the amount earned in the final years of service (the exact T&Cs and number of years taken into account varies between schemes): so, earn less, and you get less pension. I suspect most strikers won’t know that.
Do these people not realise that the money they are losing will never be made up even if they do get the increase they are seeking? Do they not realise the hardships they are causing their customers, and workers in associated businesses? For instance, other delivery drivers are feeling the knock-on effect of RM being on strike as businesses are changing their couriers. One driver who delivered here had 118 deliveries the other day, where he’d normally have around 60. 118 in an urban or suburban area may be possible, but it isn’t in a rural area, where drivers regularly do over 200 miles a day, on a normal day.
Today I received letters posted on 30th November and 2nd December. Where have these been? Will all cards and letters caught in the system/piled up in sorting offices eventually be delivered or will they just be disappeared? Anyone think the strikers will win eventually? Or will they give up?
When the wooden partitions dividing off the main house from the new bit under construction had to come out to allow plastering of the joining bits, we put up zipped plastic doorways to stop the dust going through the house.
I didn’t know these existed 2 months ago, but it’s amazing what Amazon offers you when it hears you talking about particular things. And we don’t have Alexa or – we believe – any other spy things, our microphones are off (when not in use), and we have tape over any cameras on computers.
Anyway, we can now take these useful but awkward-to-use things down, because the floor tiling was successfully finished yesterday, and the only builder-organised item left is a joiner coming to fit the 3 doors (salvaged from the demolished bit) next week. Mr BW is busily getting on with coving, painting and fitting the cloakroom and utility room.
Top tip from our top tiler (who has a lifetime’s experience of ‘proper’ winters): leave your car/van handbrake off when it is very cold and use bricks or blocks under the wheels instead. This saves it freezing on and immobilising the vehicle.
Won’t work for new-fangleds with automatic handbrakes though…
We haven’t tested positive, but we’re still unwell, and our nearest neighbour (half a mile away), who was a virologist before she retired, says that what(ever) we all have is much worse than when she had covid. She says it’s definitely viral, and I reckon the odds are that it’s another Made in China Special. Mr BW hasn’t been unwell in bed for 3 consecutive days since he was in hospital with suspected pancreatitis (that wasn’t) in 1993.
We’ve run out of oil, so heat, at Coven Sud. First time in 22 years. I thought there should be enough until the second week in January, but apparently not. It was minus 10 there this morning.
Minus 9 here, according to the tiler, who arrived before 8am. Luckily we still have oil, wood and coal here, and luckily the water is turned off down there, and the super-insulation means it is still 8°C. Lovely Friend Cleaner BW who has been caretaking currently has a dying family member to contend with, so is unable to do much to help. Another victim of covid vaccination. I’m reliably informed (by a very old friend, who is one of the US government’s senior researchers) that much respected research on said subject is being officially stifled. A scandal for the future. I am not barmy, I am not a conspiracy theorist, but I can spot something that defies logic/smells like a kipper when I see it.
It’s too snowy and too cold for the broadband to work reliably (even though The Laws of Physics suggest that copper cabling should work better in extreme cold), and even using Mr BW’s phone as a mobile hotspot isn’t working.
Hope things are rather better where you are?
When your entrance glows orange…
No, it’s OK, it is only an infra-red heater. After its use in drying plaster had added £140 to our electricity bill in one week, we called time and the builder hired a big diesel generator and paid for the fuel for the second week. I have never ever used 44kWh of electricity in one day before. In fact, even writing that makes me feel quite ill.
Usually, when there are no builders, this house will run on somewhere between 6 and 8 kWh, depending on how many loads of washing and dishwashing we do. Yes, we are very frugal, and we have the lowest power everything. Coven Sud uses about 13kWh (when we are there), as we have a high wattage pond pump, and older appliances. The solar power equipment uses a surprising amount in converting DC to AC, and the solar thermal tubes have inefficient older pumps, but at least all of what the house uses when we are not there is covered by self-generation.
The surprising thing about the house glowing orange every night for 2 weeks is that no-one called the fire brigade. Perhaps they thought it was our FOTCR™ lights…
It’s noticeable how when it snows down south it’s dreadful and everything comes to a standstill, but when it does up here they just get on with it – but, the council gritters here go out before it is a problem, and if there is any doubt, they go out just in case and work round the clock (I’m told that they have 3 shifts of drivers) keeping the roads clear.
About 6 weeks ago, just as the final trades were supposed to be coming in (so, pre- the original plasterers who went AWOL without explanation), we noticed that the floor of the old house corridor, which runs at the back of the new bit, was not flat. The new bit in front had already been dry screeded, and the old bit had been covered with builder junk, so they hadn’t realised the problem.
It seemed to be old flagstones, which would have been the original entranceway to the house in the 1600s. Closer examination showed that these stone blocks were actually laid directly on earth, and that the ‘grout’ around them was but dried soil. How Bodgit and Coverit had thought it a good idea to put down very expensive oak flooring just 5 or 6 years ago on this poor base was yet another mystery.
We called out our tiler to advise. He shook his head and declared it all had to come out and be replaced with the same DPM/sheet insulation/concrete screed as the new floor. Mr BW discussed with the builder and it was agreed that, in the absence of any further available funds, we would provide the materials and they would provide the labour. This involved re-re-purposing the sheets of insulation – that we had saved from the skip during Phase 1 to insulate the greenhouse in winter – into floor insulation, and using the DPM roll left over from safety-wrapping the asbestos board from the original garage roof so that it could be collected by the council.
Mr BW had intended to mix and lay the concrete himself, but one of the apprentices did it.
Seeing how the surface has crumbled in recent weeks, Mr BW now wishes he had done it himself. It seems that the mix was incorrect for part of it.
We called out our tiler again. This time he was happy that a bit of stabiliser and some self-leveller could sort it. This surprised us, but this is a local man who has spent the past 40 years re-tiling old houses and dealing with all their hidden delights.
What he will say at 8am (“sharp”) tomorrow morning when he arrives, to what we discovered earlier when Mr BW pulled up the remnants of the oak flooring from the passageway from the new bit, past the kitchen, to the new bedroom, remains to be seen:
It’s very damp in that far corner… that’s what happens if one’s house doesn’t have foundations, just foundation stones. Cue dehumidifier once again.
The tiles are 900mm x 450mm. Our tiler hates large tiles. We want them laid 70/30. He likes laying ‘square’ or ‘50% brick pattern’.
The next Advent Horror might be when he leaves at 8.02am tomorrow morning when he sees what we’ve laid out as an example of what is required…
Today it has continued snowy, freezing and icy and, On the 4th Day, feeling a bit better, we have been able to leave our sick bed and have:
Dispatched the plumber. But not before he hung the 4 radiators and bent the blow-off pipe he came to do.
Dispatched the labourer doing clean-up. He should have been in bed. I think he had the same virus, caught from his co-worker, that we had.
Moaned at the company who sent nice plants to continue my euonomys hedge along the front of the new bit because their chosen delivery company decided to ignore the ‘this way up’ labels and deliver at 9pm having shaken the plants who were definitely stirred, uprooted and squashed.
And the plants were nowhere near as good as the first batch I had.
Moaned at Amazon whose driver claimed not to have been able to find the front door at the time there were 4 people standing outside it. It’s 12 feet tall, arch shaped and made of glass FFS. You’d need to be blind to miss it, and, that being the case, you shouldn’t be driving. Turns out he was 4 miles away when he claimed that. First time that has happened with them. Promised delivery today. Still waiting. Not hopeful. It’s almost impossible to speak to anyone there now. Once upon a time, even a few weeks ago, there was a ‘call me’ button, but that has disappeared, and South African customer services haven’t even been told. I can always get a South African CSA talking and giving me great service. Even if we will probably never go back there, we learnt so much about the culture in the years we went that I am forever able to talk appropriately.
And yeah… the bit the builders are doing is nearly done. Did you ever think that would happen? No, us neither.
We’re warm again. The central heating is back on. It’s 17°C; and that is plenty for us, but 11°C; wasn’t. I honestly do not think that most old houses in the UK can ever be insulated enough to be comfortable in winter. I have only understood this since living in the north.
It’s like a perfect traditional landscape view FOTCR™ card here outside. Sunny, settled hard snow (1″), clear blue skies with a few fluffy wisps, and several degrees below freezing. Set in for a few days, looking at the forecast.
“But that is far too pretty a picture for Advent Horror!” I hear you say.
Er, yes, sorry, I seem not to have prepared any more pictures for Advent Horror. I have posts with titles, but no pictures in them. I know I did them, but I can’t have finished uploading them into the posts with titles before something called me away, and they must still be on the main PC which is through 4 doors, 2 of them external ones, and 25m along a slippery path, so not happening today.
The two young electricians made it 25 miles through the snow for the second day of second fix. They had the electric off for 2 hours, having said it would be half an hour, and there is now far too much banging and cutting through stone and wood noise for comfort, considering that they are only supposed to be putting switches and sockets and lights onto cables they have previously routed.
Sadly we are still wrapped up in bed too poorly to go and see. We were even too poorly to lock the house doors last night, so we were lucky the werewolves didn’t get us. Or the delivery man who dropped off a hedge at 8.50pm (and we could see from the CCTV that he still had 7 more parcels in his van). Or the builder wielding an axe, because he finally arrived at 1am to sort the generator out and fill it up. Only 12 hours after he was originally due… we were fast asleep at the time so he could easily have killed up Midsomer Murder stylee, even though we live in Vera Land.
What’s the weather like where you are?
This is the picture that I lost the other day of the broadband cable in the halcyon days of summer, before everything started going wrong. It’s thin and white and suspended above the window holes (that space is now divided – LHS cloakroom and RHS utility).
However, that is not a current horror – at least not until some idiot workman trips over its current routing, oops, tempted fate, will no doubt happen soon, if I don’t reappear tomorrow, you’ll know why.
It was – 6°C here last night. We are both still far from well and in bed. The big diesel generator powering builder’s heating to dry the plaster in the new bit (after leaks when it rained as well as wet plaster) went wrong in the night. We thought it had run out of fuel as the labourer had forgotten to fill it before he went home, but apparently it has gone wrong and must await a fitter from the hire company (day or time of arrival unknown). The windows in the new area are wide open to let out the moisture being pulled from the wet plaster by the heater. But, with no builder’s heater working, all the heat from the rest of the house is being sucked out as the wooden dividing partition that had hitherto kept us segregated and warm on Our side has had to come down to allow plastering the join. It was 11.8°C when we woke up, and the boiler is working full pelt but struggling: it’s raised the temperature 3 degrees. Mr BW managed to get an old duvet and old towels propped up by the bedroom door to the rest of the house to try to keep heat in.
The substitute pasterer finished at 7.15pm last night, having worked 10 hour plus shifts every single day since last Friday to try to make up some of the lost 5 weeks. He is our age, so how he has done it I have no idea. With hm and other weekend workers, we haven’t had more than one day at a weekend to ourselves for the past month. That is so exhausting.
The electricians turned up to do second fix at 9.30am this morning, with all the wrong fittings, despite Mr BW supplying a list back in May and another with one amendment on 19th November. Who installs shiny silver sockets and switches in this day and age – and when the same fitter put white into all previous phases? He also had nasty cheap standard downlighters, no external lights and no changeover switch to permit a generator to run the whole house (this is the second time he hasn’t been given it to fit by his boss). As I said to the electrician, the builder will blame his boss, his boss wil blame the builder, he’s the messenger, but we’re the ones who end up with the problem and with our tiler having to work in the dark next week.
But none of that is actually today’s Advent Horror. Being ill and currently only being able to get from the bedroom to the kitchen by going out of the craft room door, down 3 steep concrete steps and along the outside gravel path, then in through the outside door to the kitchen, with it being below zero, it’s just not possible for either of us to go, make hot food or drinks and bring it back. We’re just too wobbly and unstable and at any time go ‘spacey’ and need to sit with our heads between our knees to recover. Not great for chopping, cooking, or carrying.
Therefore, we have only been able to eat things like grapes, crisps and orange juice. We’d all but run out, but yesterday evening I was fortunate to get a Morrisons delivery slot for 10.30-11.30am this morning. I was delighted to get an email at 8.30am telling me they had all the items. This is the first time in months that I have had everything I ordered.
However.
At 11.40am I got a phone call. “Hello Mrs Blue Witch, this is the Morrisons delivery driver, I’m outside your gate.” No apology for being late. “OK,” I said, “I’ve left a plastic box and a plastic bowl outside the garage door. We’re both ill and in bed, would you be good enough to put the frozen stuff in the bowl, the rest in the box, and someone will sort it out in a bit?”
“Ah, there’s a bit of a problem… there’s been a spillage… not with your order… but from the one above… yours is all covered in double cream…”
I won’t repeat what I said to him, but let’s just say he finally seemed to get that we were both ill, couldn’t stand up straight, let alone access the kitchen due to unforgivable building delays, had only an ensuite sink for washing and water, had a broken down generator so were freezing cold, and had ordered easy-eat fresh tasty provisions in order to survive.
He did try to clean things up, and did say he was taking the worst affected items off the bill.
But today’s horror picture is the plastic punnet of green grapes. Clear film lid still firmly attached, but swimming in double cream that had somehow entered through the air holes.
If there is anything less appealing when you are not feeling like eating than nice crisp grapes smothered in rich double cream of dubious origin I cannot currently think of it.
I have come to hate white mugs.
If the builders ever finish, I may celebrate by smashing all the remaining white mugs.
When they started in the summer of 2020, I bought 2 dozen cheap white mugs form Amazon (I used to hate Amazon, and refused to do business with them, but when you live in the middle of nowhere, especially in pandemic times, there is absolutely no choice). Due to ‘disappearing mugs’ – many have gone home in vans and never reappeared, and many others have been broken – I had to order another dozen sometime earlier this year.
A quick tot-up suggests we have made somewhere between 1,500 and 2,000 cups of tea and coffee in this time. I know we have used 2 packs of 240 tea bags, plus 4 packs of 40 (I kept thinking they must surely be finished soon, so didn’t buy another large pack), so 640 tea bags, 17kg of white sugar, and, I think, 9 jars of coffee. But it could be more. I do have some useful storage jars now though, which I wouldn’t have had otherwise, as we don’t drink coffee.
Providing refreshments throughout the day is a complete pain, and completely wears me out, but it enables us to keep an eye on what they are doing, and get information about scheduling out of them on a regular basis. Many times we have spotted things not being done as we want, or stopped problems before they happen. It also ensures they know that we are keeping tabs on them. Labourers left up here unsupervised have a habit of sitting in their vans playing on their phones for half the day. Break times are 10am and 12.30pm each for half an hour, so beyond those times they know that we know they need to be working not sitting.
For a long time I had workmen putting used mugs in a washing up blowl of soapy/bleachy water, which sterilised them before they went through a hot wash on the dishwasher. One lad used to do his mugs, and others’, but he has mysteriously disappeared and we have been unable to extract what happened to him from any of them, so I had to give up on the bleach a while back.
This is probably why Mr BW and I are currently in bed, for the second day, with a very nasty bug that exactly resembles the cough that the plasterer’s labourer has. There is now only a plastic zipped entrance between Us and Them (the wooden partition had to come down so they could make good and plaster the join) and the lad just coughs into the air all day, and his germs on used mugs go unbleached. My temperature got to 39.9°C yesterday afternoon, and again in the night. I can’t remember ever having a temperature that high before. Luckily I have stopped feeling like I am floating or on a roller coaster (alternately) now, and am doing all the right things, including drinking lots, taking paracetemol, and doing multiple covid tests which have all been negative.
I have come to hate white mugs.
Today’s OMG moment takes us back a few months to the summer, when all was going well, if slowly.
It’s not until you do building work that you realise just how fragile the utillity services that we all take for granted are.
The blue pipe is our water supply. Only once did one of the teenage labourers kick it off, and luckily Mr BW had the right equipment in his workshop to enable it to be fixed, and save a plumber call-out charge for the builder.
It’s now all safely underground, or between the floor and ceiling boards, hidden away neatly, and our water supply is much more stable and much less airy and noisy as the sensible plumber (there is one in these parts, but he does come from Kent) thought to put in a pressure reducing valve so the pressure never goes above 3 bar (when he tested it it was 6 bar, but it often is below 1 bar – the joys of being at the top of a decades-old supply line that was put in by local farmers and not the water board).
What I don’t think you’ll be able to see is the thin broadband line, which comes into the house on the LHS, goes right the way across the back wall in a piece of conduit, and plugs into the router behind the wooden partition dividing Them from Us. All the OpenReach gubbins that was outside is in a sealed carrier bag inside, with the wire threaded through a new piece of ducting that goes under the new walls. You’re not meant to play with these things youself, but there was no way to move the incoming gubbins box until the new bit was built and plastered (still ongoing, deep sigh), so, short of not having broadband for months and months, we did what we had to do. The OR engineers locally are sensible, and have all worked the area all their working lives, so when I make the booking to have the box moved, I shan’t tell the call centre that we’ve already half-done the job. Ahem.
But, it is amzing that services generally work as well as they do.
Today’s Advent Horror picture shows the stairs in the original longhouse. Longhouses are, as their name suggests, very long, and only one room wide.
As you can see, the stairs occupied most of the passageway, making through access downstairs hard. The only way to be able to change the configuration and turn the stairs through 90 degrees, for future accessibility needs, was to build the new entraceway. This also allowed the old, uninsulated, porch containing the damp, mouldy downstairs toilet, to be demolished and replaced, and the external stone walls to be insulated with more than just an inch of old plaster..
The old stairs got cut in half and put outside:
And later turned around to be used as a depository for joiner offcuts for future use as firewood.
In time we’ll find another use for the old stairs – probably as a plant propogation area. Waste not, want not, as my grandmother was fond of saying. Their carpet is already doing a sterling job smothering weeds in the field in readiness for extension of the kitchen garden next year.
The new stairs were meant to be arriving next Monday (well, actually, originally they were due at the end of November and should have been the last part in), but we’ve now had to put them back (again) to the new year, so, with FOTCR™ shutdowns they won’t now be here until 9th January. I guess we could reinstall these ones in the interim… safer than the current ladder…
Continuing my Alternative Advent Calendar pictures, piles of mess like this have been a big part of our lives:
Amongst the horrors though, there have been occasional moments of relief.
Back in July at the beginning of our 10 week build project (now into week 20, but more than double the number of potential working days due to the number of Saturdays and Sundays worked when people have failed to materialise on weekdays), the first stage was to demolish the old, uninsulated, lean-to porch. A similarly shaped and positioned structure appears on a 1711 map, but whether or not it is (was) the same structure no-one knows.
A young lad on ‘work experience’ (ie unpaid labourer) with keen eyesight noticed a tiny reptile run out from amongst the falling stones. He put it in a bucket and brought it to us. The bucket had wet cement in the bottom, so I rescued it quickly (I suspect it’s not ideal to handle a reptile, but better than death by cement).
I can still remember how piercingly cold its tiny feet were.
Mr BW put it back into the damp at the base of another stone wall, and we left it to settle in.
A few weeks later I saw a splob of something on the kitchen floor and, sighing, bent down to wipe up whatever delight had been spilt or walked in.
It was the same tiny creature! Or at least its twin.
At that time, Mr BW had just finished building The Drystone Wall with the old stone removed from the demolished porch and the front of the house. He took the tiny creature down to it and placed it into a crack between stones.
We haven’t seen it since.
I’ll bet you’ve never had an advent calendar with a tiny reptile behind a window before!
Anyone know what species of reptile it is? Reptile identification is not one of my skills.
Continuing the theme… the delights behind Door 3…
When we finally got the builders to clear up and remove their equipment, the week before last, the amount of muck on the tarmac was very apparent. It had been apparent to me for months, as there had been a distinct lack of sweeping up, and once there is mess, and mess that has been rained on, and ground in by vans and delivery lorries, no-one bothers any more.
The rectanglular patches are where they put down wood and rubber ‘mats’ to protect the surface at the beginning of the summer, but, as you can see, it didn’t work very well, because, well, teenage labourers.
A corner of tarmac near the house had cracked and was falling away, partly because the trench dug by the electricity grid company’s contractor when they put the powerline underground last May wasn’t filled in properly, but also because teenage labourers had positioned piles of stone, cement mixers and dumpy bags of aggregate unwisely near the edge. I did say this when they started doing it, but teenage boys don’t listen to women old enough to be their granny, and Mr BW, who they listen to rather more (as he is tall, male, and they see him construcing and fixing things that impress them), was down south at the time, so I couldn’t get him to tell them.
I decided to make the most of this breakdown and had them cut the tarmac back to make an arched bed, which would nicely mirror the new arched window.
On Monday, the only fog/mist free day of the week, a sweeper with water on board turned up. The builder had paid for an hour’s work once he got here, but the driver took one look, decided he was too big to do most of the bits, made a cursory effort and left after 20 minutes, despite my protestations that he should go over everything he could get to at least once more. He didn’t even manage to sweep the long track back to the minor road properly on the way out. Even though the surface wasn’t clean, the sweeper did manage to pick up a lot of the loose grit and small stones, which meant that Mr BW could then safely use a small jet wash to blast the mud. After 4 hours work the surface is now rather cleaner, but still very damaged.
Not an Architect the Idiot Architect failed to notice that the ground levels around the new entranceway weren’t flat. In fact, there was a 60cm difference over 6 metres. As a result, the need for supporting walls, steps and accessibility slope weren’t drawn up, so weren’t costed in to the build. The builder wanted a five figure sum to sort it out, and didn’t immediately see how it could be accomplished. Not having any more five figure amounts (actually, not even a three figure amount…), and not believing that was an acceptable amount to have to pay, we set to and did it ourselves. I designed it and Mr BW has been building it this week. I insisted that the builders cut back and remove the tarmac without further charge, and, grudgingly, they did.
The tarmac was very well laid nearly 50 years ago, very thick and very heavy, and without specialist stone saws and young muscle it would have been very hard to remove it.
Tarmac gone and sub-base visible (note use of removed old painted skirting boards as temporary edge demarcation for safety):
Flower bed being constructed on LHS:
Gravel grids being installed to hold the 20mm gravel to stop it slipping down the slope (cheap and very effective, the grid squares can be overfilled with gravel so the structure is invisible):
Gravelling complete. Flower bed, made of recycled stone from the removed original lean-to porch:
Mr BW is currently constructing steps from the upper level to the lower level to the LHS of the door (near the cones), using repurposed old lintels and water tables.
These are samples of the Ilex Crenata (evergreen hedging, blight-resistant, substitute for box) that I ordered to edge the new long border:
Apparently the supplying company (with whom one can only communicate by email or chat) think this quality is acceptable, and that these old, woody, specimens with just a few leaves at the top can legally be described as “super bushy plants”. No way could anyone make a low hedge out of them. It seems that I can’t invoke S75 credit card legislation as although the purchase was over £100, it consisted of many identical plants, so doesn’t count as an ‘over-£100’ purchase. One day something that involves provision of goods or services to us by others will go right. One day.
First stages of arched bed (shown above, second photo), front-edged with leftover cut stone from the new building, and back-edged with Euonymus ‘Emerald Gaiety’ (some of which I grew from cuttings from Coven Sud), from the living room window:
My plan is to train the Euonymus as a low hedge, allowing the plant in the right-angled back corner to be the tallest, and the plants along each side to be sequentially lower (each side is about 10 feet long). If the wind flattens the plants too much, Mr BW will make some kind of blacksmithed metal supporting structure. We have planted bulbs for the spring (shades of white) and there are a few violas to brighten it up until I can decide the eventual planting. This will mainly involve seeing what comes through the winter from the many cuttings currently in the greenhouse and cold frames. I favour white or pale colours, as that living room window is north facing and light colours will reflect light and brighten the view. Any planting ideas welcome.
Advent calendars are supposed to bring joy.
Mine is an Anti-Joy offering. Each day I will bring you a visual snippet of our lives since July.
Here we have the utter mess left behind by the ‘plasterers’ yesterday when they went home at 3pm, having arrived at 10am (and this was after Mr BW had spent half an hour removing everything burnable or re-purposeable):
These are the pair who should have been finished in a week 5 weeks ago, who have come out with every excuse under the sun for absence. After 4 days of work in 5 weeks they haven’t even properly finished the plaster boarding, let alone taped it, so the builder has given up on them and called back the plasterer who helped out by plastering the small rooms last weekend. “He’s an old bloke, so doesn’t like doing big jobs any more!” declared boss builder. Turns out he is younger than us. Ah, the perceptions of youth.
I am currently having to tolerate FOTCR™ carols blasting out of his radio at top volume and his accompanying ‘singing’/’whistling’ (radios are usually banned, but desperate times call for desperate measures allowances). Apparently he is here all weekend too, until late into the evening. Because if not, the electricians can’t get in next Thursday, the plumber can’t get in next weekend, and our tiler can’t get in the week beginning the 12th. If our tiler doesn’t get in on 12th it is March before he has another week’s slot free.
We’ve had to delay delivery of the stairs (oak, open tread, will fit on RHS of the picture) for the third time, and they now won’t be here until the second week in January. Such are the dire financial straits now, Mr BW will be installing them himself. Anyone ever put in stairs?
So, own up, who has an advent calendar?
(Photos later: we are a bit busy with errant plasterers and substitute plasterers and boss builders having to work weekends because of incompentent subbies.)
Later (living in 2 rooms still, there is absolutely nowhere for the refillable 20-year-old-at-least advent stocking string to to hang, so it has to sit on the bedroom windowsill with the protective spiral of stones from the beach – and yes, our walls in the old part of the house really are that thick!):
Don’t metion the fog…