Cliffhanger

         There has been progress in the past two weeks.  Last week Max’s carpenter returned to hang the doors from the kitchen to the hall and from the kitchen into the garage and affix the skirting boards.  This week the decorators have returned to paint the kitchen most of which only had one coat of paint when they left us in December.  Most importantly, we now have a handrail and banister for the stairs.  The risk of suddenly falling from the first to ground floor for those not paying attention has been eradicated.  This also means that when my parents next visit they’ll have something to hold onto and won’t have to ascend the stairs on their hands and knees.

A New Leak

Deep joy. Another stain on another ceiling has revealed another leak. This one is coming from the front bathroom. Removing the panel on the bath has only revealed that it’s coming from one of pipes for the bath or the shower which we’d guessed before removing it. However, exactly which pipe is harder to determine. We will call upon Pete to return and investigate why his work is going wrong so soon and in the meantime use the en-suite shower which, for me, is the size of a soda stream.

Blow Away

It seems to have been raining at a Biblical level for the past day and a half. I was considering building an ark and filling it with two of each type of bikini model the country has to offer. How hard has it been raining?? Hard enough to stop our doorbell from working, that’s how hard.

Anyway, we have a leak in the roof and small mustard coloured patch has appeared in the ceiling on the top floor. I’ve stood across the road from the house and can see that there is a tile that has slipped out of place. It is located by the chimney and an area of the roof and, indeed, the house which must be the only bit of the property which hasn’t been touched by a tradesman in the past two years. It never rains but it pours.

First Impressions

First impressions count. Did you know that? Opinions are formed and there’s nothing you can do afterwards that will change them.


Marianna’s colleague, Bill, his wife, Hazel and their children Katy, Becky and Josh visited us on 7th June 2009. At that time this house was a time capsule of deep pile carpets which covered walls, floors and ceilings. It was also a Fairground Hall of Mirrors since they were on walls and ceilings. The children loved it and ran, dived, sled and treated the whole place as an adventure playground. That was just fine by us since we were about to start demolishing it and we loved that they had such a good time. Today, the five of them returned to see us but most probably to see the house and the children were keen to explore the Wendy House again. The problem was that despite the absence of deep carpets and mirrors they still saw the place as a playground. Their parents repeatedly pointed out to them that the house looked very different from last time, it was almost finished and they must treat it more respectfully. But they didn’t, couldn’t. Our house brought about a Pavlovian response and they couldn’t not go wild. As the four adults sat and talked downstairs we heard screams and doors opening and closing and slamming and feet stampeding. I’m a great fan of Bill and Hazel’s parenting style which doesn’t involve X-Box’s, Wii’s or television but their children were beyond their control today and eventually they admitted defeat and loaded them back into the car and departed. Marianna and I then wandered around the house and closed the wardrobe doors which had clearly been used for ‘Hide and Seek’, noted the multitude of handprints on the walls and the footprints in the bath and that a large number of Marianna’s shoes had been removed from their boxes and worn.



Still, Hazel brought an exceptionally good carrot cake she’d made which, in my world, makes up for pretty much anything.

The Idiot Advice Service

It seems that like a moth to a bulb our front door has begun to attract idiots. Or I’m increasingly intolerant.


During the afternoon on Tuesday when I was boring myself senseless by writing an assessment of someone’s risk of reoffending the doorbell rang.


On opening it I found a man/idiot.


IDIOT: “Simon Green wants you to call him”


ME: “Does he? Are you sure? I’ve no idea who he is”.


IDIOT: “He wants you to call him about the door”


ME: “What door? Are you sure you’ve got the right address”


IDIOT: “The door in your house”.


ME: “This house is full of doors, you’re really going to need to narrow it down a bit. Are you sure you don’t want 129 Rugby Road, they’re having building work done”.
 

IDIOT: “The doors we fitted”


ME: “Our builders fitted all of our doors”


IDIOT: “The folding doors at the back”


ME: (in the most patronising tone any human is yet to achieve) “Oh, so you’re from the company that fitted the bi-fold doors”.


IDIOT; (Bristling slightly) “Yes. We’re working across the road and he said I should pop over”


I should explain that Marianna dealt with every aspect of buying those doors and is now dealing with negotiating a settlement given the dozens of flaws they had. To her someone beginning with “Simon Green wants you to call him” rather than “Hello” might have been the beginning of a conversation rather than a riddle.


On Thursday a courier called with some legal papers for me but he didn’t immediately declare that this was his role in life. It was only just after eight and I had recently returned from the gym. The doorbell rang and when I answered it I found a man poking a finger into the passenger tyre of our car.


IDIOT: “That tyres not legal” he called over.


ME: “What?” (I genuinely couldn’t fully hear him but what I really wanted to say was ‘Who are you?’)


IDIOT: “It’s not legal. You’d be in trouble if the police saw it” said the fat, bald man now walking back towards me. I noticed the parcel in his hand and the white van behind him.


ME: “You’re very fat. You’d be in trouble if a cardiologist saw you” is not what I said but it was remarkable how quickly this man had annoyed me. What I said was “Oh”, pulled a face which said “And your point is??” and took the parcel from him.


IDIOT: “None of my business mate, just sayin”. And he walked off (backwards), hands raised, palms up in surrender.

Advice like this must be a service he offers, perhaps around town.


IDIOT: “Your ears are too big for that hairstyle, mate” he tells the man taking his order in McDonalds.


IDIOT: “Your arse is too big for that skirt, love” he tells the teller at the bank.


IDIOT: “You’ll never make it as a professional artist. If someone with any taste saw that you'd be in trouble” he tells his five year old, handing back their collage; “None of my business son, just sayin”

Ice, Ice, Baby

Rejoice! Rejoice! for we now have a fridge. We have been without refrigeration since we moved back into the house in December and our diet has been dictated by what the local Tesco Express had in stock that was on its ‘Best Before’ date and had been discounted. Those days are over and dietary decisions will no longer based on eating something purely because it’ll be mouldy tomorrow if we don’t eat it today.


It was delivered at 9am but we had been told that it would arrive some time between 7am and midday. This meant that we had to get up at six so that we could clear space in the garage for access to the kitchen and remove the chipboard panels that still cover the hole where a garage door should be. This felt a little early since we had been in Manchester the previous evening worshipping at the temple of Mr Barlow and the Take That brotherhood and had arrived home after 2am. We quickly cleared a space and removed the doors and so rather than nap until the doorbell rang we constructed a set of shelves which Marianna bought in the bargain basement section of Ikea when we lived in Coventry. Since it measures about six foot square we thought they would make for useful storage in the garage and so set about rebuilding them. Only forty five minutes later our work was done. For ease we had constructed it on its side so all we had to was tip it onto its base and push it into place. We began to move it with one of us lifting and pushing and the other pulling. “It’s tipping!!!” cried Marianna. Indeed, for a millisecond I noticed how those 90 degree angles were decreasing and then the shelves had gone and were replaced by several dozen small sections of MDF on the floor and a confetti explosion of dust, pegs and screws. “Well, there’s confirmation that my life has become utterly pointless” I said.

When the fridge (and feezer) arrived and was unwrapped in the kitchen our joy overflowed like unexercised flesh over skinny jeans. I’m not sure if the delivery men are always greeted with hugs and tear filled eyes. Normal diet here we come!!!!



(and maybe some ice-cream too)