Ebay a bidet? - 25th June 2009

On Sunday morning we made our first visit to the local car boot sale. Well, technically not our first visit. We went there a couple of weeks ago but they’d already called it a day and closed when we arrived at midday. We were several hours earlier this time. I’m certainly not adverse to an early start to the day but I don’t understand why the buying and selling of junk has to begin at 6am. Marianna loves the car booting / charity shopping experience. We have very different approaches to the acquisition of possessions. She likes to. I don’t. In the end all that stuff ends up owning you more than you own it. There are five levels of stuff you don’t want; Ebay (good enough to get some money for), Charity shop donations (still good enough to use), the recycling shop at the council tip (okay, if you’re desperate), your wheely bin (it’s rubbish) and finally Car Boot sales. Having said that Marianna is an expert rummager, bargain hunter and a ruthless negotiator. We bought a very nice but neglected over-mantel for £9 which is only bemusing because we don’t have any mantels for it to hang above. There was also a woodworm infested chest of drawers (£1) because it had nice handles. We’ve stored it in the Wendy house which is probably now full of woodworm and about to collapse.

We went home, unloaded and then loaded things from the front bathroom into the car for the recycling centre. This included the urine-soaked carpet which was now very damp with rain water which had come through the garage roof. This had seriously turned up the volume of the urine smell. The smell filled the car and didn’t leave when all of the windows were opened. Marianna leaned out of the window like a Labrador, desperate for fresher air. We are always amazed at the things people choose to throw away. When Marianna spotted that the people in the parking bay next to us at the recycling centre were unloading a perfectly pleasant chest of drawers her eyes lit up like Madonna’s in a Malawian orphanage. I tried to avoid eye contact as she sought permission to dive into the skip and retrieve what parts of it had already been dumped. As one drawer was thrown deep into the skip and smashed her chance was lost.

And lastly a visit to Homebase. We bought lawn fertiliser to make the lawn a bit less brown and viewed the selection of garden hoses and deliberated over the length of our garden. Marianna figured her strides were a metre long and, like a demented Basil Fawlty, was striding the length of the aisles to estimate the length of our garden. It is possible that measuring it with a tape measure before we left home would have been easier but this proved to be surprisingly accurate when we got home. We also bought a product to clear all of the algae out of the pond. It hasn’t. And finally, since the garden always seems to be full of birds we also bought a bird feeder. However, it has proved to be as popular as Susan Boyle at a swingers party and the garden has been devoid of birds since the thing was hung.

On Monday evening whilst writing a report on a man who killed his neighbour with a hammer I was listening to Chris Evans’ show on Radio2. He said “Tonight’s show is dedicated to anyone who’s carpeted things other than the floor of their home”. I listened as people texted and emailed in with stories of things they’d carpeted such as tool boxes, fridges, vans and wondered if I should contact the show and spread the fame of the carpeted beds and the fluffy bathroom even thought they didn’t quite meet his criteria. I emailed him some photos of the more carpety areas of the house but he didn’t respond. Maybe photographs of my bathroom aren’t what’s required for Sony award winning radio.

On Tuesday evening our fourth architect, Michael, visited. He was a small, rotund, grey, Arthur Lowe lookalike. I spotted him arrive, park opposite and then walk along the road away from us. I’m concerned that it took him so long to realise that all the even numbers were on that side. Was he thinking; “128, 126, 124. Where could 129 be? And 127 and 125 for that matter.” More generously, Marianna thought he might be trying to get a look at our house from a distance. He pointed out that the boiler, which is in the garage, was wrongly fitted and if it weren’t for all of the holes in the garage roof fumes would be killing us. He showed no interest in the pornier aspects of the house but was fascinated by Basil’s DIY re-wiring and plumbing and the sight of a make of bidet very popular in the ‘50’s and ‘60’s (can you Ebay a bidet?). Within a few minutes of arriving he’d made it clear that a first floor extension wasn’t financially viable. “Why didn’t you buy a bigger house if this isn’t enough space for you?” he wondered. Oh. But he did it in a very convincing way and he thought that it was all of the Basilness that made us think we needed to create more space whereas we only needed to clear out and rearrange. We also discussed moving the first floor to second floor stairs. A quick measure and he decided that wasn’t viable since we’d be left with a landing and opening to the front bedroom door that was only a foot square. Tricky to get a human in, impossible to get furniture in. He sold me the notion of doing a smaller project really well instead of something bigger and it bankrupting us and not looking great. So, to summarise, Roland didn’t refer to planning laws and that little of what we wanted was actually achievable, Martin seemed great but after two weeks is yet to send a quote and Garbinder said that all of our housing dreams were possible which is partly true but he didn’t mention that it was financially insane. This must be the end of ‘Architect Idol’ and we need to select someone to actually make some drawings. Michael is top of the pile for me since he actually displayed some imagination. The others only seem to be good at drawing and I knew children at primary school who were described in such terms and that was only because there was nothing else positive to say about them.

Gravity - 19th June 2009

I love the cycle ride to the gym. It’s all downhill. Whooosh!! Especially exhilarating is the particularly steep bit near the school. I hadn’t really appreciated that our house was at the top of a hill, although that does explain the views. However, I’m less keen on the cycle ride home from the gym. It’s all uphill. Growing up in the fens doesn’t prepare you or build the required muscles for tackling hills. I have to get off and push at the school when the wheels are almost vertical. My fitness target for the year won’t be in the gym it’ll be getting home without resorting to walking past all of those kids.

We were both home from work fairly early on Monday so Marianna suggested a trip five doors down the street to visit the neighbours. I was thinking more of five minutes sitting and resting. So, we went to visit the people who have extension option number three; the pitched roof. Since we were in our best work clothes when opening the door the woman clearly thought we were the police informing her of a tragedy or the earthly representatives of Jesus wanting to save her from tragedy. She might have preferred both of these to ‘Hello, we’ve just moved into 129 and wanted to ask about your extension’. It was a bit like a mugging she and her husband were just too polite to resist but they gave up all of their information, only with less love than Eddie and Mary. She said ‘Go on and have a look around’ about five times before we did so. We muttered “If you insist” and “Are you sure?” but that was what we’d gone for. The extension was very nicely done, smaller than Option A (Eddie and Mary), but that was to be expected and not as beyond the realms of consideration as I’d expected. They’d kept a nice Monica-Geller-Bing-like file of every stage of the building with architects designs and quotes. The lot. He told us how much it all cost too. It was several thousand more than the first house we bought in Hull just to add on two rooms. Instead of grabbing the file and running we were allowed to borrow the business cards of the builder and architect. I’m not saying they weren’t friendly people but they said ‘Just stick them through the letterbox when you’ve made a note of the details’. Not ‘Hey, lets hang out’.

From there we went to see Becky, our shared-wall neighbour. I realise that we’ve got used to the level of attention we were receiving and now that people have ceased to visit the house we’re forcing ourselves on others. We’re clearly not very subtle. Within the first couple of minutes she asked ‘What can I do for you?’ and ‘What brings you over?’ which we largely ignored but did propose some socialising at a later date. Obviously we discussed the legend that was Basil. She paints a sadder and more deviant picture than the one we’d invented for ourselves. More Sir Les Patterson than Leslie Phillips.

He had been married, to the mother of the four daughters, but his wife died shortly after beginning divorce proceedings. Becky had heard both that it was suicide and that she’d choked on a fish bone. A combination of the two isn’t impossible. In her childhood one of the daughters woke in the night to witness a swinging party; mum having sex with someone in the garden and dad entering someone in a handstand position in the hallway.

Also, some photos of him in bondage gear had been found at his company at some point. He appeared to be a man preoccupied with sex since reference to it made up 50% of his conversation. He had once, after Annie left, asked Becky to make some orders from a website which turned out to be porn site. She was clearly disturbed by these things as well as being able to hear his porn films through the walls.

There were some nice things though in that he used to decorate his garden with fairy lights at Christmas and invite people over, taking donations for charity (Ann Summers). And some sad things in that he was with Annie for 26 years before she left him five years before he died for the man who’d mended the fridge. Becky described Annie as a strumpet/floozy/dolly bird type who was wearing skin tight shorts in public when approaching sixty years of age. Imagine that famous '70's poster of the girl in the tennis outfit with an exposed buttock. Now substitute her for her gran and you're pretty much there. Shortly before Basil died Becky helped him write a letter that was effectively a goodbye letter to her.

We had a tour around her house, of course. Her loft extension has the stairs in a different, better position to ours. She pointed out that our wandering vine wanders considerably onto her garden and also, visible from her side, has wandered onto the flat roof above our extension and is finding its way under the flat roof.

Bhupinder returned on Wednesday evening with some plans which were no better than the ones we’d done. He remains a very likeable man, although he was turning into more of a salesman this time and he’s likely to lose the job if that continues. I was worried before that he appeared to be a jack-of-all-trades but he seems to be tackling even more now, inspired by our ecological hopes for the work on the house. The estimate prices also seem to be a long way below those of others.

Maturity at last - 12th June 2009

Yesterday morning I walked to Newbold Comyn Leisure Centre for my first Leamington gym session. Travelling to Fitness First in Coventry had become too impractical. It only took me half an hour to get there and, with the sun shining, was extremely pleasant. I used to be out walking in the countryside every day and doing lengthy walks regularly. It’s reinvigorating. Living in cities for the past few years has been very claustrophobic. In future I’ll cycle but the man to whom I entrusted servicing of my bike on Monday and who said ‘Well, we haven’t looked after this very well have we?’ has yet to call me. Over recent weeks I’ve visited a few local gyms. Cannons (£55) didn’t impress me at all; small gym area, small pool and, like so many gyms, large (always 80% empty) lounge area. I don’t know if the huge fee is because they serve Starbucks coffee. Friends don’t let friends drink Starbucks. I’ve been spoilt by Total Fitness in Hull which, although the staff were hopeless, was huge and eighteen pounds a month cheaper than Cannons. We also went to Pure (£47) which looked lovely and new as if they’d cut the ribbon ten seconds before I walked in. The personal trainer at Total Fitness told me to avoid The Treadmill because it’s full of meatheads. And it doesn’t open till nine. I like to have been out, gymned and back home working by nine. The winner was Newbold Comyn for being closest to home and having equipment that’s just as good as the others for only £30 a month. Despite having attended numerous gyms before I wasn't allowed to use this gym until i'd had an induction which I thought was a bit of a nonsense. On arrival I used the ground floor changing rooms which seemed basic and couldn’t have been further from the luxury of Pure. I was thinking of claiming I’d forgotten the direct debit form and making a swift exit. My biggest complaint was the open, bus-shelter-like nature of the showers. You would literally be cheek to cheek with your fellow gym/shower users. Once I was upstairs I found that I’d used the swimming pool changing room where you would be already costumed when using those showers. Upstairs they had more changing rooms which i assumed had proper, modesty protecting cubicles for the showers. They didn't. There was just another, smaller bus shelter. Pure offered free Shampoo and shower gel, Cannons had free towels, this place could offer a free back rub from a random stranger. Kate, who did my induction, had prepared some girls exercises for me. She offered me 6kg for the first exercise and we gradually discovered that 22.5kg was the appropriate weight. I soon wished I’d stuck with the lighter weights since most of the exercises involved balancing on a Swiss ball or a single leg and left me, and especially my buttocks, feeling completely exhausted very quickly. Resting wasn’t a concept she was familiar with. When i left my pride didn't come with me.

Yesterday evening Martin, the architect used by Eddie and Mary opposite, visited. He took the mirrors and carpets all in his stride, making barely any comment. It was quite disappointing, like telling someone your best ghost story or funniest joke and getting no response at all. We finally had to be adult when touring the house. He was pessimistic about extending above the garage, not really seeing it as generating enough space given the expense. He thought we could extend the rear of the house but I’m not keen to alter its symmetry. I did like that he was quite parental and if he was managing our project would be keeping an eye on our budget and be offering Waitrose, Tesco and Aldi options.

Siphoning - 10th June 2009

Yesterday evening we had a visit from Bhupinder the builder and Garbinder the architect. Bhupinder said ‘Call me Bhup or Bhupi’ but I didn’t and don’t feel I could. It just doesn’t feel like something one grown man could call another one. On walking into the house he said how luxurious it seemed. “Just wait, there’s more to come. Prepare yourself” I warned. “Well, unless you’ve got mirrors on the ceiling and a sex swing I’m sure I’ve seen it all before”. These Derren Brown-like powers are wasted in the building industry. When he saw the mirrored ceiling he forgot all about the sex swing request. He was a lovely man and his colleague was very knowledgeable which brought some bad news. We began outside looking at the garage and the possibilities of knocking it down and extending upwards. Apparently we won’t be able to reproduce the architecture of any of our neighbours since the planning laws have changed and now you have to step in a metre from the neighbouring property and back from the front of your own property. Why didn’t Roland mention this? So, the extension will look like a tier on a wedding cake. More importantly, the extension will be 12 metres long and 1.5 metres wide. That’s not an extension it’s a corridor. Garbinder said he’d come up with some ideas although Marianna has probably beaten him to it. He laughed at her suggestion that we needed triple glazing at the front of the house. They only have that at airports apparently. They measured and made sketches and then asked what type of this or colour of that we might want which is several steps ahead of where we are, well where I am. I just knew I didn’t want the porn, carpet and mirrors anymore. Clearly I was the only one who hadn’t given it any thought. Marianna began to outline her plans and both men caught a glimpse of a future in which they can afford to put their kids into private schools, take extended foreign holidays and maybe retire early. The only disconcerting thing was how many tasks Bhupinder would be tackling himself; electrics, plumbing, carpentry and project managing. He reassured us though that he is the figurehead of a larger workforce. He said reassuring things about timescales and the feasibility of continuing to live in the house while work is ongoing. We’re living in it while it falls apart so the reverse must be possible. I was pleased that just before they left both said they would happily buy the house. It’s nice that it can be seen as a good property, good home and good investment and not just a thing of amusement because of the décor.

I’m really tiring of the mirrors. I feel sufficiently aware of the aging process without having to witness every second of it as I walk from one room to another or just across a room and see myself reflected from every angle many times over. There is one above the desk where I work. Every time I lift my head there I am. I count the grey hairs, notice the numerous lines, think that i should moisturise and then practice smiling without using any facial muscles. I hadn’t previously realised how tired my chin was feeling and how it had invited a second chin along to help support my face. We also have a six foot tall mirror next to the toilet. There are some things I’ve never wished to watch myself doing. Weeks ago I became aware, when sitting, how my chin, chest, stomach and knees all seem to roll into each other. So, at least when using that seat my posture has now improved greatly.

This morning I discovered that on Sunday one of the visiting children used the broken toilet. How do you get ‘water’ out a toilet that won’t flush? I hope it isn’t the same method used for getting petrol of a car’s tank.

The bum basin - 7th June 2009

The soundtrack to my sleep was thunder and lightning so it wasn’t a surprise that when we got up the garage was full of water. Marianna was in the garage at some point while we were preparing breakfast and said she heard a snap, crackle and pop from our fuse box. There was a boom of thunder at the same time but since the fuse box looked perfectly normal when I made an inspection I dismissed this as some Greek hysteria. Moments later when I was in the garage there was a crackle and some sparks flew from the fuse box and I rushed to shut our electricity off. Typically, we have three fuse boxes so this took a second or two to figure out. There was also a smell that I haven’t experienced since my brothers and I tried to rev up and wheel spin Scalextric cars. The holes in the roof seemed no bigger, the rain no heavier so..… Had there been sparks flying about in the garage for the last few weeks whilst we were doing things indoors and for months while the house was empty? I looked up to see the drips of water emerge through the roof, grow larger and then fall onto exposed wires and sizzle.

I’m not an electrician. I think we all know that. I earn my living as a psychologist and know a bit about that but know more about eighties pop music. So, you can imagine how little I know about electrics. And plumbing. Carpentry. Roofing. I have put my life, our house and mostly my wallet in the hands of people who do know about these things. It always makes me nervous. Tradesmen sense this lack of knowledge and move a decimal place in their price. This is why when i buy a car i lift the bonnet, look underneath it, jiggle things, frown, look pensive, tut, shake my head, pretend i'm listening to the engine in a special way. That sort of thing. What i'm really thinking is 'Blue or Racing Green?'

For this disaster Marianna's dad was called. Takis, from Greece, recommended an expanding foam filler for the holes in the roof and a product for wet motor engines for the wet, smoking wires. Off we went to Homebase (again) and bought the foam filler and then to Halfords for the engine/wire/drying stuff. I often make the mistake of thinking that people employed in such stores have some knowledge of their subject but I’m always disappointed. The lad we asked about such products bent down and picked up some cans and read the labels and instructions which I've been capable of doing myself since i was 37. We returned home to spray the ceiling of the garage fairly randomly and sprayed the wires which, when the spray dripped off them, seemed like an odd idea. One of us is a stand back assess, read the instructions personality type. The other a dive in and get on with it type so there's never a dull moment. We left it all to dry in the hope that we might be able to turn the power on later in the day.

One of the reasons why we haven't really dismantled the pornier aspects of the house is that Marianna has invited many of her colleagues for viewings. On Wednesday Sandeep viewed the house. She took a measured, mature approach to it all and brought a lovely scented candle. On Saturday Helen and Marianne visited. The latter loved the bedroom with the mirrored ceiling a little too much and is probably now in discussions with an interior designer to recreate the entire ‘House of Porn’ chic in a property of her own. This afternoon we had a visit from Marianna’s colleague Bill and his wife, Hazel, and their children called boy, girl and slightly older girl. Hazel brought a home-baked cake. Normally I would only ask that people bring me the pleasure of their company but the cake was lovely so I would ask that all people I meet in future are carrying a cake which they then hand to me. The kids loved the house. A house of Porn can be a playground for all ages. They shouted and screamed with joy as they came upon each room and more and more carpet. They were fascinated by the bidet and asked their parents what it might be; a special sort of toilet? A basin for children and midgets? Foot washer? Bum basin? I think they regretted touching it when they found this to be the correct answer. And bum basin is how it shall be known from now on. They poked sticks in the pond, revealing that there’s a greater percentage of plant life in there than water. They then played hide and seek with great enthusiasm. I should have given them a list of things i still haven't found since we moved. They then, voluntarily, spent an hour cleaning out the wendy house and even took the net curtains from the window to lay them on the grass and brush them clean with a broom. Why we hadn’t thought of that I don’t know. Before departing the children had several goes at sliding down the stairs. “Don’t get carpet burns” warned Hazel. Probably not the first time that phrase has been uttered in this house.

When they’d gone we thought we’d try putting the power back on. And again there was snapping, crackling, flying sparks and, oh joy, smoke. So I faced the prospect of not being able to work tomorrow and Marianna not being able to bathe tonight. With a heavy heart we went to see Martin and Anne next door to see if they knew of a good electrician. One of their children (girl and slightly older girl) answered the door. Her parents appeared to be showering together. Least said soonest mended. I was very impressed with their house, which is all finished and clean and free from carpet and mirrors. They told us some new things about Basil (that he wasn't married in the time they knew him, since 1992, and his partner's mum lived on the top floor) and called their electrician, Tony. Tony arrived twenty minutes later. He was a no-nonsense kind of guy and said ‘Let’s have a look at this wiring’ instead of a more traditional greeting. Perhaps he was a no-nonsense kind of guy. Perhaps he considered a house without electricity to be a genuine emergency. Perhaps he didn’t like people calling him when he was eating his evening meal. Perhaps he knew we wanted to watch the final of ‘The Apprentice’ tonight. Half an hour, and a small fee, later he’d replaced some bits and pieces and the power was back on. Thankfully he didn't need to come indoors and discover that we're half a century behind with rewiring and still have round two pin sockets. While Tony worked, and now that it had been viewed by a number of Marianna’s colleagues, we dismantled some of the front bathroom. The urgency was to remove the carpet and thus remove the smell of urine. Aiming accuracy when urinating deteriorates with age and since Basil was in his eighties, that's a lot of discoloured carpet.

The carpet is now in the garage which smells strangely of urine.

Neighbours, should be there for one another - 3rd June 2009

I engaged in more lawn mowing on Friday, more jungle clearance on Saturday and so another trip to the council recycling centre was required. In accordance with Marianna’s ‘one in/one out’ policy we exchanged six sacks of green waste for four pieces of exercise equipment. The things people choose to throw away rather than donate to charity is insane. During the jungle clearance I discovered a ten metre length of hose attached to a tap. It’s disappointing but characteristic that the tap doesn’t actually produce water.


Then we went across the road to visit the neighbours. My opening line was something like “Hello, we’ve just moved in across the road to the ugliest house on the street and noticed that you’ve had a lovely extension built. Can we have a look around?”. Of course, being middle class he said yes and in we went. This is despite the fact that he was building a wall and on a very hot day the wet cement would be dry before his wife had said “Tea? Choccy bickie?”. His name was Eddie and hers Mary and they couldn’t have been nicer. Nor could their extension, although, bless them, their house is smaller than ours. Their extension is joined on, inside and out, very subtly and swung me back towards the full two floor extension I’d swung away from two days previously. It's a sort of house renovators bipolar disorder. They didn’t know Basil but felt that the house had a curious aura. Marianna told them about the carpets and mirrors and encouraged them to come over for a tour.


On Sunday night I pulled the blind in the bathroom to hide my modesty when bathing and it came away in my hand. Broken. We’re bathing in darkness from now on.


On Monday Eddie came over as we put our two green bins, three red sacks and three red boxes on the pavement for refuse collection the next morning. He gave us the name and number of the architect he used. Marianna encouraged him to look around our house. He declined, declined again and then I think we kidnapped him. He was stunned by the house, as most people are. He was also a pessimistic sod saying it would take us years to finish all of the building and decorating work. I was hoping to be finished by Christmas. He has a good sense of humour; ‘Pull up this carpet and you’ll find more mirrors’ was a favourite witticism. Although he knew little about Basil he told us he had his own steam engine and although he didn’t permanently park it here he would drive up and down the road on it. Jones the steam and Hugh Hefner combined.

Architecture and Morality

Roland the architect visited on Thursday. He arrived in a convertible BMW. I would guess that he expects us and our house to keep him in the manner to which he’s become accustomed. We walked him around the house and pointed out what we'd want changed. He nodded and smiled but gave very little away. He speaks when we've signed a contract perhaps. He did comment on the carpeted walls, that he had only previously seen similar things done for soundproofing. You do shudder to think what might have been happening in our house. We'll call a builder next.


Just before he arrived our neighbour Becky visited with a welcoming card and bottle of wine. I love it here. She thought Basil was a weird old man, rather than the sweet and lovely man described by Martin and Anne on the other side. The shared wall must give Becky a different level/type of knowledge.


I continued with the jungle/garden clearing today. Gardening can be relaxing and therapeutic but this isn't. Some innocent lives may have been lost in the 'Are you a flower or a weed?' decision making process. I love the garden though and could happily stare it rather than the tv. We have two squirrels that often appear in the garden and like to leap about the Wendy house roof and from it onto the trees and fences. If we spotted two rats I wouldn't be so charmed but there's probably little difference between them.