BUILDERS - Max seems to be top of the pile at the moment, partly because his quote arrived when he said it would and we hope that’s an indicator of a general level of efficiency. Marianna called him and asked for the names and addresses of recent customers on the 26th and a list of three came through the letter box a couple of hours later. First thing on Monday we met with one of these. The extension to Helen’s Georgian house was a stunning piece of work. The thought that one day our semi-derelict collection of bricks could look like that made me feel quite emotional. She couldn’t have been more generous in showing us around and detailing the story of their remodelling which involved removing the entire back wall of the house and extending outwards into their garden. They had, however, left the original house untouched and so that will be a project for the years to come. She gave us the business cards of her kitchen designer and a surveyor who is a party wall specialist. We may have to employ him, at some expense, if Brian won’t play nicely. We’ll try to contact another former customer but Max is in pole position.
On Monday whilst I was discovering that Cambridge is a city free from car parking opportunities Andy Graham left a voicemail. The quote was almost ready and could we make a date so he could present it to us. I’m yet to ring back.
STORAGE - Last Saturday we called on Montague Storage in Warwick. For those of you who haven’t visited the area Warwick and Leamington are pretty much joined at the hip. I don’t know where one town ends and the other begins. They are the Jedward of local geography. Marianna had already enquired of the company we used when we moved to Coventry from Hull in August 2008 who told her that their price for six months storage would be £968. Her negotiations with Phil at Montague Storage began at £951 for six months. She kept saying she wanted to pay £100 per month. Those of you kind enough to be reading will notice there is some considerable distance between £600 and £951 and yet that distance diminished over the next few minutes. Phil kept saying he couldn’t do it for any less than £900/800/700 and she kept saying she wanted to pay £100 a month and in the end he said yes. This is despite the fact that there are no other storage companies locally and he knew his original price was cheaper than other companies in the wider area. Marianna later complained that I just stood and smirked during the negotiations but I couldn’t help myself. It is highly amusing to watch a grown man being charmed into throwing away all profit and leaving his children hungry and bills unpaid. However, Phil’s main business is next door and involves servicing very expensive cars so he’ll probably survive.
I may put a poster on our storage unit for all of the other customers – THIS UNIT ONLY COST US £100 A MONTH. HOW MUCH WAS YOURS?
So, today just nineteen months after leaving Hull and ten months after we moved our possessions out of storage and out of the rental house in Coventry we were, yet again, loading our belongings into a rental van. It was hard work, not helped by rain. We arrived at Montague’s and began carrying boxes and items of furniture out of the van, into the building, up the stairs and into our unit. Nothing at the gym prepares you for a workout like this. Tragically, during our second visit Marianna hurt her arm and was no longer able to lift. Typically and illogically she kept trying to lift things one armed and I continued with the workout whilst telling her to rest. Finally, one of the staff who’d been milling about and watching us go back and forth and up and down the stairs said “Would you like me to put a pallet into the back of your van so you can load it and then forklift it onto the first floor?”. I wanted so say “You have a forklift? A fucking forklift! Did you have a forklift when you watched me carry the sideboard up the stairs on my own half an hour ago?!” but of course I said “Really? That would be so good of you”. This was Clive. I loaded boxes onto the pallet and it was fork-lifted out of the van and onto the first floor and then he used some hand forks to wheel them straight into the unit. With sofas and sideboards and our wardrobes it was looking quite homely in there. I liked Clive. He asked why we were moving our furniture out of the house and we told him about the state of it and the re-wiring, re-plumbing, re-glazing. “Why don’t you want to do these things yourself?” he asked. “These jobs are very simple. Professionals make them seem complex so as to make themselves money. Go to a library and get a book and learn”. I was going off Clive. “You shouldn’t be lazy about these things”. I didn’t like Clive. I wanted to tell him that I had skills too. I should have said “I have skills too. You show me a paedophile and I’ll list their risk factors and the likelihood of reoffending quicker than you can say ‘Neck down alopecia’”. But I didn’t. I wanted him to keep driving the forklift for me. We began at eight and finished at five. It’s been an exhausting day. The house looks a little emptier but no less chaotic but at least we can really start the final stages of gutting it now.
OUR NEIGHBOURS AND THEIR BLOODY GUTTER - When we arrived home on Saturday afternoon Anne was weeding at the front of her house. We both said hello but not a sound came in response. Marianna made a point of going out there again later to force a greeting from her. On Tuesday evening she took Malcolm’s latest sketches to Martin. She didn’t loiter. “Have a look and let us know what you think”.
IT NEVER RAINS BUT IT POURS - Oh, and on Tuesday a wheel fell off my car. I went down a pot hole but drove another mile perfectly well before it became apparent what the steering wheel was no longer controlling the direction in which the car went. I called for a recovery truck but would have preferred a private ambulance from The Priory. I waited for some time for the recovery vehicle to rescue myself and the car. When it was lifted onto the truck the front driver’s side wheel flopped about like the appendage of a ninety year old newlywed in the honeymoon suite. When the car and I got to the garage the mechanic looked at the car for several minutes and returned to write on their paperwork – Wheel has come off. Nothing more technical. I was only 2.2 miles from the prison where a man who’d been convicted of GBH awaited me so I left the car at the garage and got a taxi there. I was discussing my adventure with a representative of our insurance company as I travelled. I booked a cab to collect me two and half hours later but someone stole my ride and I stood in the rain for forty five minutes. Marianna’s conversations with the insurance company while I was in the prison centred around whether I’d had an incident or an accident and so no decision could be made about a claim or courtesy car. I couldn’t quite see how I could get from one prison miles from a train station to another prison even further from a station by nine the next morning. I think it was this and the level of dampness, cold and misery I was experiencing that prompted me to call my Uncle Les, who lived only fourteen miles from the puddle I was standing in. He collected me and returned me to his home, my Aunt Jo and a huge meal. Sometimes, however old you are, it’s nice to be treated like you’re a ten year old. I loved seeing them but I also loved not being in our house. I stayed the night and the next day Les let me take his car to my next prison in Norfolk. Well, his car is a 4x4 the size of Denmark. This was Jo's car, a Suzuki, the size of a briefcase. It felt odd driving someone else's car and i was more than a little anxious. I haven’t driven so carefully since taking lessons as a seventeen year old. After a morning spent discussing the downloading of materials from the internet, I returned the car, ate another huge meal (and pudding) and Les took me to the train station so I could spend four and three quarter hours travelling the 116 miles home. When the car is fixed next week I’ll need to repeat the train journey to collect it.
On Monday whilst I was discovering that Cambridge is a city free from car parking opportunities Andy Graham left a voicemail. The quote was almost ready and could we make a date so he could present it to us. I’m yet to ring back.
STORAGE - Last Saturday we called on Montague Storage in Warwick. For those of you who haven’t visited the area Warwick and Leamington are pretty much joined at the hip. I don’t know where one town ends and the other begins. They are the Jedward of local geography. Marianna had already enquired of the company we used when we moved to Coventry from Hull in August 2008 who told her that their price for six months storage would be £968. Her negotiations with Phil at Montague Storage began at £951 for six months. She kept saying she wanted to pay £100 per month. Those of you kind enough to be reading will notice there is some considerable distance between £600 and £951 and yet that distance diminished over the next few minutes. Phil kept saying he couldn’t do it for any less than £900/800/700 and she kept saying she wanted to pay £100 a month and in the end he said yes. This is despite the fact that there are no other storage companies locally and he knew his original price was cheaper than other companies in the wider area. Marianna later complained that I just stood and smirked during the negotiations but I couldn’t help myself. It is highly amusing to watch a grown man being charmed into throwing away all profit and leaving his children hungry and bills unpaid. However, Phil’s main business is next door and involves servicing very expensive cars so he’ll probably survive.
I may put a poster on our storage unit for all of the other customers – THIS UNIT ONLY COST US £100 A MONTH. HOW MUCH WAS YOURS?
So, today just nineteen months after leaving Hull and ten months after we moved our possessions out of storage and out of the rental house in Coventry we were, yet again, loading our belongings into a rental van. It was hard work, not helped by rain. We arrived at Montague’s and began carrying boxes and items of furniture out of the van, into the building, up the stairs and into our unit. Nothing at the gym prepares you for a workout like this. Tragically, during our second visit Marianna hurt her arm and was no longer able to lift. Typically and illogically she kept trying to lift things one armed and I continued with the workout whilst telling her to rest. Finally, one of the staff who’d been milling about and watching us go back and forth and up and down the stairs said “Would you like me to put a pallet into the back of your van so you can load it and then forklift it onto the first floor?”. I wanted so say “You have a forklift? A fucking forklift! Did you have a forklift when you watched me carry the sideboard up the stairs on my own half an hour ago?!” but of course I said “Really? That would be so good of you”. This was Clive. I loaded boxes onto the pallet and it was fork-lifted out of the van and onto the first floor and then he used some hand forks to wheel them straight into the unit. With sofas and sideboards and our wardrobes it was looking quite homely in there. I liked Clive. He asked why we were moving our furniture out of the house and we told him about the state of it and the re-wiring, re-plumbing, re-glazing. “Why don’t you want to do these things yourself?” he asked. “These jobs are very simple. Professionals make them seem complex so as to make themselves money. Go to a library and get a book and learn”. I was going off Clive. “You shouldn’t be lazy about these things”. I didn’t like Clive. I wanted to tell him that I had skills too. I should have said “I have skills too. You show me a paedophile and I’ll list their risk factors and the likelihood of reoffending quicker than you can say ‘Neck down alopecia’”. But I didn’t. I wanted him to keep driving the forklift for me. We began at eight and finished at five. It’s been an exhausting day. The house looks a little emptier but no less chaotic but at least we can really start the final stages of gutting it now.
OUR NEIGHBOURS AND THEIR BLOODY GUTTER - When we arrived home on Saturday afternoon Anne was weeding at the front of her house. We both said hello but not a sound came in response. Marianna made a point of going out there again later to force a greeting from her. On Tuesday evening she took Malcolm’s latest sketches to Martin. She didn’t loiter. “Have a look and let us know what you think”.
IT NEVER RAINS BUT IT POURS - Oh, and on Tuesday a wheel fell off my car. I went down a pot hole but drove another mile perfectly well before it became apparent what the steering wheel was no longer controlling the direction in which the car went. I called for a recovery truck but would have preferred a private ambulance from The Priory. I waited for some time for the recovery vehicle to rescue myself and the car. When it was lifted onto the truck the front driver’s side wheel flopped about like the appendage of a ninety year old newlywed in the honeymoon suite. When the car and I got to the garage the mechanic looked at the car for several minutes and returned to write on their paperwork – Wheel has come off. Nothing more technical. I was only 2.2 miles from the prison where a man who’d been convicted of GBH awaited me so I left the car at the garage and got a taxi there. I was discussing my adventure with a representative of our insurance company as I travelled. I booked a cab to collect me two and half hours later but someone stole my ride and I stood in the rain for forty five minutes. Marianna’s conversations with the insurance company while I was in the prison centred around whether I’d had an incident or an accident and so no decision could be made about a claim or courtesy car. I couldn’t quite see how I could get from one prison miles from a train station to another prison even further from a station by nine the next morning. I think it was this and the level of dampness, cold and misery I was experiencing that prompted me to call my Uncle Les, who lived only fourteen miles from the puddle I was standing in. He collected me and returned me to his home, my Aunt Jo and a huge meal. Sometimes, however old you are, it’s nice to be treated like you’re a ten year old. I loved seeing them but I also loved not being in our house. I stayed the night and the next day Les let me take his car to my next prison in Norfolk. Well, his car is a 4x4 the size of Denmark. This was Jo's car, a Suzuki, the size of a briefcase. It felt odd driving someone else's car and i was more than a little anxious. I haven’t driven so carefully since taking lessons as a seventeen year old. After a morning spent discussing the downloading of materials from the internet, I returned the car, ate another huge meal (and pudding) and Les took me to the train station so I could spend four and three quarter hours travelling the 116 miles home. When the car is fixed next week I’ll need to repeat the train journey to collect it.
