Miniature Martin

This evening we had a visit from Martin. I don’t know if he was heading elsewhere but he was wearing a large coat and scarf. I warned him yesterday that, without central heating, this is the house of permanently pert flesh so he must have prepared in advance. It was a friendly visit rather than one for complaint. He pointed out that Malcolm had wrongly assumed where our drains were and asked if he could speak to or meet with Malcolm to discuss the issue of their gutter. Not a problem. We’d been sitting down and when we stood as he was about to leave I noticed that he must be six or seven inches shorter than me. I felt that there was no need to fear his complaints anymore and I was now in a position of power over him, certainly if anyone needs something retrieving from a high shelf.

A hot flush

It’s not news to those who know me to say that I can be a bit avoidant. Tell me on the 1st of January that I need to do something by 1st of June and I’ll most likely do it on May 31st. In fact I once submitted something online at two minutes to midnight on deadline day. It’s sometimes that I genuinely am busy, sometimes I’m completely indifferent to the issue and at other times I’m just being avoidant and putting things off until they just can’t be avoided any more. That’s just paperwork. If it’s something interpersonal I’m much much worse. I tend not to speak up and say what’s on my mind. If someone says ‘Hey, lets get together some time’ I tend to think that I’d rather not and if we do get together it’s because I avoided or failed to say no. For me emails and text messaging are the perfect way of staying in touch. In my work I’m the complete opposite. With clients in front of me I never avoid issues and always tackle those tricky subjects because that’s where the real heart of issues tends to be. It must be the suit and tie and role I’m in that makes it so easy. It’s a character flaw but its not necrophilia or writing for The Daily Mail so I sleep at night just fine thank you. So……….that’s why thirteen days passed between Malcolm’s visit and me going next door to see Martin.
I knocked on his door last night armed with a set of plans, a letter for him and a letter which he would have to sign and return to us. I wasn’t at all anxious. I think I said “Hello Martin, fumfeddy, banammy, foibidy Party Wall Act”. He looked a bit confused and ushered me in and I joined him and Anne at their kitchen table. I gave him the paperwork and asked for a copy of the written agreement he had with Basil which gave him permission to build over our roof. While he searched it out Julie asked how the plans with the house were progressing. She then asked if they could do some work on the side of their garage when ours was knocked down. Of course. Not a problem. The agreement between Basil and Martin was very informal and not drawn up by a solicitor as I’d imagined. I’m not sure how much difference it makes but he can’t produce this agreement like a trump card when we’re discussing how to move his guttering. I was wearing a normal amount of clothing for our heatless house (t-shirt, long sleeved t-shirt and sweatshirt) but found that I was unusually warm in their heated house and was well aware that I began to glow and sweat and could feel the sweat slowly soak through my first two layers. I felt that they were checking me out a bit, asking if we planned to stay in the house when all of the work was completed but we chatted in a very laid back, jovial manner for an hour about all sorts of things and the elephant in the room (that they made a formal objection to our plans) was never mentioned. I felt very aware of the elephant though and stumbled over my words quite a bit, wanting to start all sentences, regardless of the subject under discussion, with the words “Well, even though you formally objected to our plans……”.
“Well, even though you formally objected to our plans ‘New Moon on Monday’ was a weak single for Duran Duran”.
“Well, because you formally objected to our plans John Terry may draw the line at shagging your wife”.
We parted with smiles, high fives and hugs and even some gangster rapper style handshakes and with an expectation of another objection from them in my mind.
I then paid a much briefer to Becky at 131. She took the papers from me, said she’d take a look and visit in a few days to discuss them with us.

Reviewing Plans

On the fourteenth Malcolm (finally) sent us our plans. It seemed to have taken him a long time to make detailed plans from Michael’s originals. Marianna and I went over them and covered them in notes questioning why some things we wanted weren't there or weren’t where we wanted them and why some things we didn't want were there. He visited this morning so we could review them together. He commented on the temperature in the house and chose to keep his coat on. I’ve stopped noticing how cold it is and have come to prefer my flesh al dente. He explained some of the additions and subtractions on the plans and said he would amend others. Marianna asks a lot of questions, wanting to understand each process. I accept that he knows more than me and don’t bother. The biggest point for discussion and general sticking point is that Basil gave Martin and Anne permission to build the roof to their extension overhanging our garage roof. This makes going above the current height of the garage very difficult. Well, Michael didn’t think so but Malcolm seems less imaginative about how to overcome this. You get what you pay for. If we step in to the point where their roof ends we’ll have a garage barely big enough for a car. We can now contact builders and get formal quotes, begin packing up the possessions we did bother to unpack and get things into storage, find somewhere to live while the work is being done and finish gutting the house. Marianna has begun this by removing a section of wall carpet every time she goes up or down the stairs. We also have to give Brian a ‘Party Wall agreement’ and give him at least two months notice before building begins. Although we could post it I feel we should visit so we can also discuss how we’re going to literally get around their roof. Such a large part of my job involves discussing difficult subjects and asking people things within an hour of meeting them that you might never ask people you’ve known for years and yet I’m dreading having to visit Martin. We haven’t unpacked since we left Hull eighteen months ago and I’m tired of living like a squatter. It’s far from relaxing. If I was squatting I might have to worry about financing all of this a bit less. We’ll have to visit Martin this weekend.

Frozen Pipes

I don’t have strong opinions about snow. Some love it because it makes the world white and sparkly and it’s a good excuse for some days off while others hate it because of the disruption to work, schools and getting anywhere. I had a period where I hated driving in the snow and ice because I once, rather spectacularly, lost control of my car on black ice. I did a spin to the left and just missed a van, a spin to the right and narrowly missed a car and then went head on into an HGV. I didn’t see my life flash before my eyes or the image of a beckoning angel but the page of my diary for that day and since dying in a car crash wasn’t pencilled in I knew I’d be okay. Once I realised that I had survived the impact I was aware that I couldn’t see properly and thought that my eyesight might have been seriously damaged but when I put my hand up to my face in noticed that my spectacles were no longer there and once I’d located them on the floor of the car and returned them to my face all was well. So, for some time after this I panicked when the temperatures dipped and was a very careful driver, ready to slow down when a pedestrian two miles down the road stepped near the kerb. Since I endured something of an adventure getting myself home after the crash my mother always advises to have a blanket, tent, shovel, flask and all sorts of things in the car. Always be prepared.

We were away in warmer places when the snow first came to England this winter. Since we’re so poorly insulated its presence makes little difference to the temperature in this house. We’re often able to see our breath in front of us. It’s like Stonehenge with carpet. I worked in Nottingham on Monday and then went over to Hull. Both cities had a really good covering of snow but there hadn’t been any in Leamington when I left and there was none when I returned on Tuesday evening. However, there was a substantial snow fall on Tuesday night. Rather than risk the snow and ice plus hills plus bicycle equation I put on my walking boots and walked to the gym. It was a lovely walk and since few people were daft enough to be about at that time I was the first to break the snow and hear it crunch beneath my feet. I was also the only person in the gym which was great. I’m at my most intolerant in the gym and like to have the whole place to myself. It was equally empty the next day. On the Thursday when I removed the plug after my post-gym bath dirty brown water suddenly belched out of the bidet, filled it and spilled onto the carpet. I quickly put the plug back in the bath. Since the speed at which I process information is quite slow I pulled the plug again, watched another belch explode onto the carpet, returned the plug and left it, thinking I’d attack the bidet with the plunger later. However, ten minutes later, when I went downstairs to the kitchen I found a steady stream of water coming from the ceiling. I pulled at the damp paper on the ceiling and could see that the water was coming from several different patches on the ceiling. I ran through my usual DIY repertoire by swearing and allowing my heart to sink to the floor and then cleared the things beneath the dripping and positioned buckets in their place. The water appeared to be coming from a point directly below either the end of the bath or the toilet so I returned to the bathroom. I could see that the water level in the bath and the bidet were unchanged, as it was in the toilet so I pulled at the side of the bath but couldn’t see a leak. I then searched on the internet for local plumbers and rang six. None of them answered the call and I left increasingly desperate messages with each one I called ; “Hello, I have water pouring through my kitchen ceiling and, although not trained in these matters, I’m sure it shouldn’t be doing that. Help”. After a month off work I was trying to ease myself back into things by writing a report on a man who beheaded his daughter’s pet rabbit before trying to kill his wife but it was impossible to concentrate because every five minutes I felt obliged to go downstairs and look at the ceiling to see if it was now on the floor and look at the water level in the buckets. It was only six hours later that I heard my phone ringing. It was the wife of a local plumber calling to see if the problem was solved. Her husband needed to go and visit his mother in hospital but if I was in desperate need could come to me instead. Obviously a small moral dilemma crossed through my mind but I ignored it and asked how quickly he could be here. By this time the smell of damp plaster had filled the house. Paul, the plumber, was here only ten minutes later. Since the front door was frozen shut he had to enter the house through the garage door. He told me his mother had been in hospital since May and he'd run out of conversation in June so was pleased for the call. He looked at the ceiling, made some noises of amazement and then proceeded up to the bathroom. Since he is a plumber he knew that there was little relationship between where the water was coming from in the kitchen and the source of the leak in the bathroom. He quickly found the source at the plug end of the bath which was ten feet from where the water was leaving the floor and was confident that the water was failing to leave the house because pipes outside were frozen. He suggested an inspection of the pipes outside and twitched his head to beckon me to follow, like Daddy’s little helper. We went back down to the garage and he grabbed a ladder that was hanging on the wall; “Can I use your ladder to save getting mine from the van?”. “Eh? I own a ladder? How long has that been there?” I wondered. It had been left to us by Basil. Since he intended to get up on our roof, which barely holds water, I thought the ladder breaking could be a blessing and save him from killing himself by falling through the roof . He went up on the snow covered roof to examine the pipes which turned out to be frozen solid. I stood at the top of the ladder and peered onto the roof, anticipating his swift descent. Usually when people say "Look at this", they mean "Come here and look at this" but I nodded and murmured to indicate I could clearly see and understand what was wrong with our plumbing. There was some pipe-work out there which we didn’t need, but, regardless, was only meant to be indoors and that was why they had froxen. He questioned why a plumber would do such a thing so I told him about Basil’s love for DIY. He got a blow torch from his van and defrosted the pipes, took them apart, banged lumps of ice out and out poured my bathwater from that day and possible several previous days. He then returned to the safety of the house and punctured our kitchen ceiling with a screwdriver so the water came out like a tap rather than a shower head. That was the problem temporarily solved and the water soon stopped coming from the ceiling. There was a brief discussion about Basil and the ‘Bailey’s The Furniture People’ shop. Paul’s mother-in-law had once bought a bed from the store which had a mirrored headboard with a radio built into it. I told him our whole house once looked like that. He also recalled how wonderful the store’s Santa’s Grotto was. He asked if we could manage without the bath overnight and left. On Friday he returned to remove the pipes that shouldn’t have been there and disconnect the bidet to prevent it all from happening again.
If you're going out in the snow be sure to take two lumps of coal, a carrot and a scarf with you. Always be prepared.

False Gods

We didn’t ever formally sack Michael or tell him we wouldn’t be using him for the next phase of our project. There was no “It’s not you, it’s me” or “I’ve changed. You’ve changed. We’ve changed” phone call. It’s not as if we left him standing outside the Odeon Cinema with a dozen roses in his hand though. He said that his offer lasted until the end of November so come the first of December he must have figured out what happened.
Last week Paul, the builder with his name on his clothing, gave us a quote which was exactly the amount Michael had originally said the building would cost. Good news. Then, on Tuesday of this week Malcolm came to take measurements so that he can undertake the building regulations work. It turned out that he knew of rather than knew Basil Bailey but he was able to inform Marianna that the interior design of our house wasn't done by Basil himself but by the man who designed the third incarnation of the 'Bailey's; The Furniture People' shop. The carpeted walls and ceilings were his idea. I've been worshipping the wrong person. And the designer is still alive. We could track him down, give him a budget and see if he could work his magic again forty years later.

Never Question The Great Oz

After receiving Malcolm’s much cheaper quote we emailed Michael, asking how it could be that we now had a formal quote based on the plans and it was still cheaper and why he now saw the cost of the project as being so much more than he previously did. Here is his response –

From: michael@$$$$$$$$$$$$$.com
To: pbodger@$$$$mail.co.uk
Subject: Building Regulation Fees
Date: Wed, 18 Nov 2009 14:40:13

I refer to your email of 17th November 2009.

My fee proposal was based upon my calculation of the anticipated cost of the project including a contingency for unknowns, and potential client changes during the build. Those costs also include our involvement and incorporation of new heating installations throughout the house, together with a new electrical installation and other items we have previously discussed.

I am surprised at the building regulation fee you mention, and would sound a note of caution for you:-

1. Is the “Architect” you mention a fully qualified Architect on the ARKUK register and a RIBA member?

2. Is he or she a member of a Chartered Practice?

3. Is he or she a “one man band”?

4. Has he or she adequate professional indemnity insurance to protect your interests?

In my professional experience (of over 40 years), a bone-fide Architects practice cannot even break even on a fee so low, and their insurers would be unlikely to cover them for such an uncommercial fee on the basis that their risk to reward ratio would be unacceptable.

I can only say beware what you are contemplating, for in this world, it is a truth that you get what you pay for.

For my part, this practice is offering you a comprehensive and experienced service, which in the longer term will give you value for money, which requires investment in time at the building regulations drawing stage to incorporate or make allowances for all the personalising elements you have identified that you wish to be incorporated, to ensure a smooth and co-ordinated building project later.

I doubt whether the quoted fee will give that level of service, and I would be concerned regarding the on-going support you might receive during the building process, especially as you both have little or no experience of building projects.

I regret therefore that if you are inviting me to reconsider my fee again, then I must decline, and will look forward with interest over the coming months to see how your project is progressing.

If, however, you wish to reconsider, my offer remains open until the end of November.

Regards

MICHAEL PILKINGTON
PARTNER

It’s not good is it? There’s no ‘Dear Marianna and Patrick’ at the beginning and he now signs off with both names. And the reduction in his fee turns out to be an offer lasting for a limited period only. Clearly, he hasn’t been pleased that we have dared to question his fees. I feel there also a hint of threat in the “will look forward with interest over the coming months to see how your project is progressing” bit. Does that mean he’ll be standing across the road watching and laughing while it all collapses around our ears? Without even knowing Malcolm he classifies him as having the intellect and talent of the ‘Loose Women’ panel. He also felt the need to point out that he’s been doing this for over forty years. Is that to remind me that I’m funding a soon to begin retirement? Malcolm is no spring chicken but I only assumed he’d always been an architect. This time last year he may well have been sweeping the streets. The added extra that Michael offers is philosophy. He reminds us that “in this world, it is a truth that you get what you pay for”. This isn’t true. People pay me a fortune and all they get is prison. The first time I read his email I felt panicked and thought that we should stick with him to guarantee a good service but on reading it again it reads like blackmail.

Then, yesterday, we got a quote from Steve the builder which was just over half way between Michael’s original price and his new price. So we had to discuss whether we should cut our losses and go back to a ground floor extension only. This would mean new plans, a new application for planning permission and that the last few months had been wasted.

Amber

Sometimes it’s difficult to identify action and reaction, how one thing that you do, decision you make or thing that happens to you returns and impacts on you and your life later. It’s not like those domino tricks you used to see on Roy Castle’s Record Breakers where you saw the chain reaction. My current theory is this; a few years ago I was attacked by a patient. He did his absolute best to crack my skull open like a hard boiled egg using the base of a mug and his fist. Forty Six months later I bought this house. There’s clear cause and effect there. I was brain damaged. We bought a house that’s in a semi-derelict state so that we can spend a fortune fixing it up into a lovely house. Why didn’t we just buy one of those lovely finished houses and cut out the stressful bit in the middle? Taking on a house like this is like starting smoking in school; it initially seems fun but is a lifelong committment and can have long lasting health implications.

Things seemed to grind to a halt very quickly after we got the planning permission granted. Just before we got the notification Michael sent us the price structure for the next phase. In his original quote from months ago Stage 3 had ‘price to be agreed’ next to it. That seemed fine at the time. However, two of the other applicants in our original Architect Idol had given an indication of their prices at this stage. They were twenty five and forty percent of the figure Michael was now quoting us. This was a shock. He’d come up with this figure based on an estimation of the cost of the project which was now fifty percent more than it was the last time he estimated the cost. This was a bigger shock. I’m already working more than a seventy hour week and don’t want to commit myself to doing so for evermore to fund an ever growing project and his retirement. So, we hoped he had miscalculated somewhere. We sent him an email that politely said ‘WTF?’. He wrote back explaining the calculations but, as a goodwill gesture, took nearly a thousand pounds from his fee. It worried me how quickly and easily he did this. His estimation of the cost of the final project didn’t change though. On Sunday we drafted another email that queried this increase in the price but are yet to send it. The problem is that I have no idea if his prices are reasonable or not. It’s not like standing in the supermarket where you can compare the price and quality of product A and B and ownbrand C. He also wants us to make decisions now about the positioning of lights, sockets, materials for doors and windows and probably the colour of bathroom towels. During the week while I travelled the country, wrote reports and wished it would all go away Marianna was typically proactive and contacted a new architect and two builders.

Yesterday, Malcolm the architect visited. He was recommended by Becky, next door, months ago, but we lost the paper she wrote his name on and so he wasn’t part of the original Architect Idol. He was very like Sir Ian McKellan in looks and mannerisms and was very down to earth. He didn’t tour the house at all but did a through inspection of the plans. He was impressed by Michael’s design and the realisation of Marianna’s ideas and surprised that planning permission had been granted. Perhaps, with Michael, as well as his big office in the town centre, we’re paying for his connections. Or the huge fee is turned into pound notes in a brown envelope to go into a planning officer’s back pocket. A new worry that occurred to me is that very little of what helped us get the planning permission has been submitted to paper but is in Michael’s head. Malcolm's estimate of the final cost was back to where Michael had put it originally. Today Malcolm sent us his quote which was 40% of Michael’s fee. We’re not sure now if we should sack him or ask him if he can drop to this.

Today, at 9.15, Paul, a builder, visited. The name of his company was impressively printed on his truck, t-shirt and jacket. He toured the house with us, made notes and took it all very seriously. He was amazed by the house though and how much work would be involved while I was ashamed of the state of the house. We've now been here six months and haven't unpacked. We haven't reeally unpacked since we left Hull in August 2008. “It's a huge project. What were you thinking?” he asked me at one point. That’s not too encouraging is it? He said it was the second worst / biggest project he'd seen because so little of the existing building will be kept. I felt a little sad about this. I feel quite protective about the house and expect gasps of wonder and compliments. Everyone thinks their child is the best looking or most intelligent even though that couldn't possibly be true. He made it very clear that it would be impossible for us to live here during the building work and described how one team of men would be working on preparing for the extension while another gutted the existing house. Then, at eleven, Steve, the builder, called. He appeared slightly less professional and formal. He had Reebok printed on his shoes and Animal printed on his shirt which was a bit less impressive. He made little comment about all of it and followed us around the house somewhat passively. They both left with copies of the plans and will come up with prices to give us an idea whether Malcolm or Michael have been most accurate at estimating the costy of the building.