Gardeners

Since the vine had penetrated the bricks at the front of the house and neighbour Becky had told us that at the back it was going under the flat roof it had to be removed at the back too. Marianna thought that it might save us some time to get a professional gardener to come and deal with it. Last Sunday the first professional came to give us a quote. He was aged about nineteen and probably working within restrictions set by an ASBO. He quoted £180 and when we said we were getting a second quote later in the week this suddenly dropped to £150. We said we’d let him know.

On Thursday a second gardener came. He had a notebook and made notes while I was pointing out where we had ivy and would like to not have ivy. What was there to write? Anyway, he quoted £475. I’ve had holidays that cost me less. He pointed out that this included a discount though for what I’m not sure. I told him that we’d be getting a second quote and he told me that anyone who quoted less than £300 was a cowboy and that he’d been in gardening for 20 years and had undertaken 1500 vine removals. I tried to work out 1500 multiplied by £475 and wondered why he hadn’t retired. I said I’d let him know.

That evening the two of us began removing the ivy and continued with this work on Saturday morning. I’d estimate that we’ve done 90% of it so far and have probably spent 4 hours on it. That’s a hell of a good hourly rate for the 'professional' gardeners. I may change career. The only noteworthy incident during our ivy clearance was that behind a section near the guttering Marianna found Basil’s credit card screwed to the wall.

On Saturday when it was raining and we couldn’t work on the ivy we finished gutting the front bathroom, especially dismantling the shower. We’re limited in what we can remove without tackling plumbing or electrics. When that was done we removed the fitted wardrobes in the front bedroom.

I was feeling rather overwhelmed by it all at the weekend. Overwhelmed by work and constantly rushing from one task and place in the country to another, tired of being surrounded by chaos everywhere in the house and deflated that we’re living in a house which doesn’t always feel fit to live in. I have untouched personal and professional 'Things to do' lists and the one for the house is endless. The space between my ears feels as chaotic as the space within these walls. There must be cheaper ways to have a nervous breakdown. Last Wednesday our kitchen lights suddenly stopped working. It seemed to happen as water boiled over from a pan on the hob. I opened the cupboard beneath the stairs to check the fuses and the lights came back on. Could the hinges on the cupboard door be linked to our kitchen lights? In this house it is possible. I discovered that the fuses for everything in the kitchen are separate from the other fuses and are right beneath the hob. But it doesn't seem to be the fuses causing the problem. The lights came and went again on Thursday but died for good on Friday. We can prepare food during the day or have the fridge door open and hope that its light will reach across the room.

We took turns working on the shower

and took turns photographing each other working on the shower

My Parents Visit

My parents visited the weekend before last. It was their first visit to us since we moved to the midlands. They said they’d be leaving their home at 8.30 but I wasn’t surprised to get a text at 7.45 saying that they were then leaving. I wasn’t surprised either later when they said they'd been kicking their heels for some time waiting to leave at 7.45. They brought an old chair for us to increase our sitting options by a third. I lifted it out of my dad's car and put it just inside the front door. It's still there. It seems pointless to put it in front of the tv that only has one channel. As soon as they arrived we went straight into a tour of the house. Since we’ve removed the hand rail on the stairs they ascended on all fours. Much to my surprise they really liked the house. My dad likes to play it safe and if buying a house would opt for a brand new one, not one that needed work in every part of every room but he could see the potential that we’d seen when we’d first viewed it although he did have some concerns about the cost of the entire project. I think because we presented as calm about it he was reassured. We’d booked them into a hotel because of the state of the house so after re-fuelling them with several very strong cups of tea we delivered their car to their hotel and then went for a wander around Leamington. Like a couple of five year olds they were full of questions; What’s the name of the river? Why is it called Royal Leamington Spa? Why is there a statue of Queen Victoria in front of the town hall? We didn’t know the answers to any of these so had to read the little plaques and signs around the town. We found an advert for guided historical tours of the town during the summer evenings. We should sign up. My dad moves a little slower these days and my mum’s poor hearing and memory make for a lot of repetition. She asked Marianna five times if her parents had visited us here yet and she asked me the same thing about my nephew twice. Although as proof that my memory is no better I don’t recall what that question was. We stopped in Jephson park for more strong tea and they resisted Marianna's encouragement to return to the hotel for a nap and then the three of them engaged in their favourite activity and toured the town’s charity shops. If Marianna’s bank card was stolen and the thief used it the bank would wonder why less money was coming out of the account. Having said that I was the only one who bought anything. In the evening we went to The Saxon Mill for a very lovely meal and afterwards took a brief walk towards the ruins of a stately home. Marianna accosted a man carrying a guide book who clearly hadn’t spoken to another human being for many years and looked quite terrified. He informed us that we were looking at Guys Cliffe House. It’s the first house I’ve seen for some time that’s in a worst state than ours.

On the Sunday we went to Kenilworth Castle which was very impressively organised with lots of accessible information and interactive activities to keep a 39 year old occupied. The grounds were very beautiful and the staff extremely helpful in a particularly unEnglish way. Mum and Dad weren’t too interested to read about the history of the buildings and artifacts, claiming they were too old to take on new information and so just larked about but they did listen to the audioguide which we all wore. It's the first time i've visited somewhere like that with my parents when i wasn't wearing my school uniform. We went on from there to the Fleur De Lys at Lowsonford for more lovely food. Satiated, we returned home to provide them with more super strong tea. "Will you be providing any Grandchildren any time soon?" my mother asked, being uncharacterstically forward. I hurried them towards their car and we waved them goodbye as they headed back to the Fens.

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.