Sense of Humour Failure

So, on Saturday July fourth with reports to write and suitcases to pack for visiting the in-laws in Greece we, instead, were outside stripping the vine that was climbing over the front of the house. Perhaps because of the unwritten reports and empty suitcases I was experiencing a sense of humour failure. I’d had two months of being amused by or indifferent to the dilapidated state of the house but finding that the garden was making its way into the house was just the final straw. Anyway, it took quite a while but wasn’t particularly difficult. My heart sank deeper when the state of the brickwork beneath the vine was revealed. Hopefully it needs nothing more than re-pointing. Hidden by the vine there were also air vents. Like handkerchiefs from a clown's pocket a couple of inches of vine outside the vent, when pulled, revealed several feet of vine inside the vent. Once it was all clear the wall was drowned in weed killer.

During the vine clearing Martin and family from next door returned home and asked how we were and how the house was. Marianna warned him that we’d be doing a little building work in the future and asked about their extension and he produced the plans in another labelled, categorised folder. Am I the only one who exists in a state of constant chaos? We were invited in and sat on their patio and chatted. From their garden our house looked awful. Like Cat Deeley, it’s only attractive from a certain, very precise angle. I could see that the second floor electrics come from a wire dangling down the external wall and going into the garage roof. We discussed our meetings with architects and builders and how we wouldn’t be able to have our stairs like Becky’s. At this point Martin revealed that he designed Becky’s corkscrew staircase and Marianna became very excited. “What do you do for a living?” she asked. “Structural engineer” he said. “Wow. Really?” I said, typically, instead of “Eh???”. So, Marianna’s dream of a corkscrew staircase which allows for a huge bedroom on the second floor may be possible. We were a bit coy about Basil’s sexual adventures but they were aware of those and there was some inevitable discussion of those too.

Yesterday I spotted leaves coming out of the dining room ceiling.

Come Vine with Me

On Monday Martin made a surprise re-entry into Architect Idol by emailing a quote. He did apologise for the eighteen day delay and said he was keen to make a start with a survey this week. But, the eighteen days of silence worried me and although his prices compared well with the others he wasn't allowed to Darius Danesh back into the competition. Marianna rang Michael to pump him for more information and then we gave him the job. He came over today with a colleague to measure, sketch and photograph for over two hours. He cheered me up no end by regularly mentioning how expensive the whole project would be and how, because of the re-wiring, decorating, new windows, new central heating etc., the building work would only be 40% of the cost. It also made me aware of how difficult it will be to work from home while the work is going on. While they were here, and regularly asking me questions, I was trying to write a report on a man who wants to kill his ex-wife, their kids and then himself. I was so distracted I could only suggest that he try that in reverse order. Whilst inspecting Michael discovered that behind the units in the dining room the climbing vine, previously outside, has penetrated the mortar, plaster and wallpaper and come inside.

Man Defies Gravity

I did it!! On the way back from the gymn I managed to cycle all the way up that bloody hill. The torrential rain may have inspired me or just made me want to get home quicker but I got to the point where I normally give up and the legs kept on going.

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.