Saturday morning and we are still in the thick of it.Tiles are going up in the shower and we have a working toilet but no sink and bathing is done with soap and face cloth. As they say in Lark Rise... "You wash down as far as possible and up as far as possible. Poor possible!"
The job is going to stretch now till Monday or so we have been told.This could be a Monday in May, how would we know? The builder certainly works hard. There is a lot of huffing and puffing and thundering up and down stairs hauling stuff. The driveway is set up to cut things that from the sound of them would rather not be cut. This attracts male attention from the neighbours so time has to be spent in discussing machinery and scratching etc. A great deal of hot air is floating around here all of it loaded with testosterone.
"Now I remember back in the day when all I had was a stone and another stone so I thought hmmm... I'll just sharpen that stone and that's how I built my first house."You get my drift.
I, lucky woman that I am, have a studio to retire to and various paying culinary chores to complete so between hiding behind a wall of turps and linseed oil and fleeing around researching where to get the best deals on apples I can be away from all this.
The Better Half gets to supervise and scratch with the guys. Everybody's happy.
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
War Zone
We are in the middle of Day Three of the the Great Granard Bathroom Reno. I call it this because the others on the street who never speak to us have been rubbernecking like mad since the contractors arrived with their trucks and bins and trailer.
We have as builder number One a big husky German called Peter who is deaf and shouts. He loves to talk. To himself if no one else is available. I now know more about his life than I do about my own. He is not being paid by the hour.He also has had a number of closed head injuries and has no short term memory at all.He is an anthropologist's dream.
His boss is a short stout Italian chap with joint and breathing problems.I spend my days listening to what Ram Dass calls the Organ Recital.When one has finished moaning about his aches and pains the other starts up. They should put music to it and take it on the road.
Then we have the MESS.The upstairs landing looks like an explosion in a junkyard. I have to turn a blind eye never mind a deaf ear to the din and the dust.Right now Peter has gone to get his tile saw and said he would be back in less than half an hour. That was well over an hour ago. I know contractors live by their own rules but I have a feeling he may have forgotten he was working here and wandered off to some other project only to find he has finished it.
We are supposed to be all done by Saturday but cleverly they didn't say which Saturday.I will keep you all posted.
We have as builder number One a big husky German called Peter who is deaf and shouts. He loves to talk. To himself if no one else is available. I now know more about his life than I do about my own. He is not being paid by the hour.He also has had a number of closed head injuries and has no short term memory at all.He is an anthropologist's dream.
His boss is a short stout Italian chap with joint and breathing problems.I spend my days listening to what Ram Dass calls the Organ Recital.When one has finished moaning about his aches and pains the other starts up. They should put music to it and take it on the road.
Then we have the MESS.The upstairs landing looks like an explosion in a junkyard. I have to turn a blind eye never mind a deaf ear to the din and the dust.Right now Peter has gone to get his tile saw and said he would be back in less than half an hour. That was well over an hour ago. I know contractors live by their own rules but I have a feeling he may have forgotten he was working here and wandered off to some other project only to find he has finished it.
We are supposed to be all done by Saturday but cleverly they didn't say which Saturday.I will keep you all posted.
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