Gran

On Monday morning my grandmother passed away.

It is hard to know what to say. She was 97 years old, with a heart stronger than mine I suspect. Over the last few years dementia took an increasing hold, frustrating her and those around her. Her death was a release, but remains a profound loss.

For she was a joy to know. The picture of her as a baby, hung on the wall in her room, portends a handful of trouble: not difficulty, but mischief. Even then there is a glint in her eyes, as if she's saying, "I know: I look like any other baby, but I'm not. I'm me, and I'm going to let you know it."

Of course, I only drift into her hourglass at about twenty to the hour. But she was always special. She cooked the most amazing meals. She made many of our clothes, including the joys of my childhood dressing-up box with its bridal headdresses and flowing cloaks. She taught me how to sew and how to use a sewing machine. She had housemartins in the eaves that we would make lardy birdcakes for.

She was the contact point with my cousins - distant in location, but the most idolised relations we had. The summers were spent in the garden, playing silly games and chewing the grass. And when my grandparents moved into a granny-flat with my uncle and aunt living above, there was a new lease of life. Aged 71 she retrieved the tennis racket she was given for her 21st birthday and played against anyone willing to try. Given that she'd had a hip replaced about 15 years before it was quite remarkable to watch.

She was the reason we all spoke well in public. She had been trained as an elocution teacher, and woe betide any of us standing up in a school play and not being heard. Every consonant placed, no dipping in volume, head up, shoulders back: she's always (in my mind) sat in the back row ensuring I keep the speech on track.

And then Grandpa died, and we worried about how she would carry on. But fifteen years later she has seen three of her grandchildren married, and six great-grandchildren arrive and has outlived all the others of her own generation. Aged 84 she made my wedding dress. Aged 92 she had games and jigsaws out for my children to play with when we visited.

When I last saw her, just over a week before she died, she was frail and sleepy. I don't think she knew who I was, but she was adamant that she knew both her children (my mother and uncle). And she spoke of her faith, faith that I know I have inherited via my mother. She was in some level of communication with her God, repeating Amen in a comforted fashion. And, in a moment of clarity, she said, "If everyone loved God as much as He loves us, the world would be a happy place."

As I kissed her goodbye she thanked me and said, "You will remember me, won't you?"

Yes, Gran. I will.

Eco-friendly durability

A couple of years ago I had a good sort through all our bedding. It was a moment of super-organisation for me, putting all the ones we use rarely (i.e. for visitors!) into bags and sticking labels on so I know what is in the bag. Astonishing organisation for me - and, it turns out, essential if you want to find a spare sheet in a hurry when one of the kids has vomited repeatedly all night. Knowing that a sheet is single or double, fitted or flat, or even (actually) a duvet cover is remarkably useful.

With the various moves since then there was an entire box that had not been touched and at the weekend we finally got round to sifting through the unpacked box of bags. Now, what I didn't mention above was that I didn't go for fancy bags, or special storage, for all these spare sheets. No: I reached for the bag of carriers and (it turns out) Tesco and Sainsbury's.

Our supermarkets are always telling us to re-use their bags, sometimes offering money back if you do. There is also eco-pressure to make the bags biodegradable, so they don't clog up landfill sites for ever and a day. So here is my non-scientific study of the durability of their bags.

Firstly: Sainsbury's

Secondly: Tesco

So, if you want strength and durability, go to Sainsbury's. If you wish them to degrade and fall apart, try Tescos.

Or, better still, buy a jute bag and keep reusing it. Even when degrading it must be more environmentally friendly than the flakes of Tesco bag I keep picking up off the floor.

The world is the size of a pea

Crikey - it has been two weeks since I wrote here. That's the problem with wandering. Over half-term we wandered across the sea: this time, to Northern Ireland to see family. Grannie & Gramps looked after the children for a couple of nights, so my husband and I were able to get away and talk about things - and not just the house/builders/disasters at home!

It is a long time since I have stayed in a B&B: a very British institution, focussing a lot on homely accommodation and a huge breakfast. The first morning we sat down with the only other guests, a couple our parents' age. They were talking about visiting their daughter; about how many times per year they come over to Ireland; about how difficult it is to fly from Norwich now there's no direct flight to Belfast; about the rain (of course: there is a lot of it!) ... then as soon as my husband mentioned his parents in Belfast she said, "Oh - you're the Withenays!"

It was a slightly spooky moment. It turns out they know my in-laws from church in Norwich.

As I said at the time, the world has shrunk to the size of a pea. We can't even get away to somewhere we've never been before without being known.

The Mountains of Mourne are truly stunningly beautiful. Even in the rain. Given the moans and groans I gave throughout my teenage years, I think my parents would be astounded that I chose to go for a walk despite the weather. Most of the walk was through drizzle. It only really began to rain when we reached the dam at the end of the valley and the end of the walk.

Well, the end of the way out. We had a (much quicker!) 3 mile hike back to the teashop and car into which we dripped. I had water squelching around in my hiking boots and was quietly praying for the survival of my mobile phone in my trouser pocket. The tea was essential to warm us through again, but we left pools of water everywhere. Back at the B&B we left our clothes in front of the Rayburn and they were only just dry when we left the following morning.

Ireland isn't the Emerald Isle without reason: year-round rain means year-round green.

*****

I've changed my design background (in case you hadn't noticed!). Do you like it? Is it too brown? I liked the map image - it seemed to go well with my Wandering theme ... although I do now seem to be far more settled. It may all change again as I seek to find the design that suits me and the blog best. All comments and advice are welcome!

Photo of Silent Valley, copyright Awesome Stories

Tea at our house

Why is 5.30-6pm the busiest time in our house?

It starts with, "Mum, I'm hungry!"

No - I lie - it is never so polite. It's more like:

"Mu-um ... I'm staarrrving!" (with added whine and moan factor).

Although my favourite bit is when this is followed by my daughter saying, "My tummy's rumberling."

So, clearly, at this point I have to put my vague thoughts about what we are going to eat into practice. Yesterday I was running a little late, due to the electricians messing around with the power all afternoon, so went for quick-and-easy oven chips, veg and the leftover roast beef.

No sooner had I put the chips in the oven when there was a knock on the front door. To my surprise it was a friend from my writing group, wanting to know if I'd recommend my builders. She didn't know it was my house but had been watching its progress over the last few months. (She and half the village, I am picking up. Someone told me they thought it was being made into an old people's home. How disappointing my screaming children will seem!) Clearly she also hasn't read this blog post, or she'd never have asked. Anyway, she came in and we chatted and I learnt about her house with marble floors and meeting Saddam Hussain and other things that really stop you thinking about cooking dinner.

Until, of course, you hear the whine from the children again. "Mummy - my tummy's rumberling."

Hopefully not too rudely I encouraged my friend out of the front door and rushed back to put the food onto plates. Cold beef first ... then the phone rings. It is my husband checking when he's supposed to be home so I can go to a meeting. Seven o'clock. Yes, stop work now and get a move on!

I return to the table to dish up the vegetables - only for the mobile to ring. My friend is dropping something off before going to the aforementioned meeting - is that ok? Yes, yes... any time is fine. (Obviously apart from right now. There are tummies rumberling.)

With some manic screaming from me, the children drag themselves away from the television (even rumbly tums are less important than Pokemon) and we settle to eat the now somewhat cool food.

Then all I have to deal with is both children talking at the same time, to and across each other and me: a constant barrage of noise. There's no such thing as a quiet tea at our house.

Toilet number 5

Here is our family bathroom.

OK - so that was a few months ago. Things have progressed since then. Here it is now...

You will note that the toilet is - how can I put this? - incomplete. Here is the story.

Toilet #1
We bought a toilet in the sale. Turns out that, due the structure of the wall behind the toilet the design of the toilet was wrong: it needed to have a side turn, rather than straight back. Thankfully, company happy to take it back and change it for...

Toilet #2
The replacement toilet ticked all the boxes per the catalogue, but in reality the pipe at the back still went the wrong way. No decent alternatives sold by that company and so bought a new toilet elsewhere. We are most grateful that they were still happy to refund us for the toilet(s) bought.

Toilet #3
Fitted perfectly ... but a crack in the pan. Replaced by...

Toilet #4
Which is what you see above. No cracks, pipes heading the right way ... but holes for fixing the toilet seat have been manufactured incorrectly, so that it cannot be fitted. The company's specialist came to have a look at it last week (full of bluster that it can't possibly be wrong) and broke the fixing.

So we head towards Toilet #5 ...

A room with a view

At long last, we clear enough room to put the dining table with four legs on the ground. We still can't access the chairs all around it, but there is a row of three crammed between the table and the wall, more like a bench than a seating arrangement. The room is madness: filled with boxes and furniture that has not yet been taken to the right room. As the builders are still in and out of the house I have designated the utility as a space for them to leave boots and equipment and spare parts, so all the washing is hung on the other side of the table. Anywhere else and it would be filthy in seconds: here I feel I have some level of control.

There is a rare moment of wakefulness in the morning and my daughter lays the table for breakfast. She places three bowls in a row, and insists that Mummy sits next to her. My son sits on the other side, a cosy threesome in the chill morning air (we can't yet shut the window properly).

"Isn't this lovely," I say, "all three of us together."

My daughter giggles. She's delighted, cuddling up to me. There is more reluctance from my son.

"Yeah," he grunts, "and looking at Dad's underpants."

Must, must, must find alternative space for drying clothes...

Practical completion

We achieved Practical Completion last Monday ... only 3 weeks after moving in ...

During those three weeks I have had builders, of one description or another, in the house every day of the week (except Sunday: ah, the day of rest...) Practical Completion is a technical - possibly legal - term for the end of the first phase of our contract with the builders. Now the building is complete and habitable, all the jobs done and simply a minor snagging list left to do.

Logically (of course) since reaching it I have continued to have builders in every day of the week...

Outside, diggers and dumper trucks were hired to level the front garden and bring some sort of normality to the side path. In the process they have ruined the back garden, but it is hard to get too cross about it as it was always muddy and squelchy. It would be better if I didn't need wellies to hang out the washing but I guess you can't have everything!

Inside the plumbers have been busy. Or, more often, the handyman has been busy fixing the plumber's problems. The boiler/solar panel suppliers managed to flood the airing cupboard with glycol, which leaked into the toilet below. Despite everything, the relevant pipe has leaked in two places ever since: I think it got fixed a couple of days ago, but I must check! Two leaks were found under the sink in the utility, a leak behind the downstairs toilet, a leak in our en suite basin and (best of all) a leak behind our en suite toilet. That leaked down into the family room below ... another brown smudge on the pristine white walls. It was fixed late on a Thursday with 24 hours for the seal to dry. Of course, no builders are prepared to work after 4pm on a Friday so an entire weekend without the en suite (and without the kids bathroom, as that drained into the same place) followed.  Oh ... and then they didn't actually send anyone to fix it back properly until the following Wednesday: nearly a week on.

Don't think I'd recommend the plumbers.

Joiners were around for the first couple of weeks, dodging the decorator who didn't want sawdust flying around near his newly glossed doors and floors. We are still waiting on the door handles (that we could have ordered and got within 2-3 weeks but the builders said they would get ... now we are 5 weeks and counting!) The electrician finally got around to putting light bulbs in the fixings last week. He still refuses to put up the lights we bought for our en suite as he claims they are not suitable for Zone 1. That is very irritating: he does have the final say, but all the regulations are ambiguous, and as we have to have our electrics signed off it means another £150 or more to replace lights we've already bought. Grrrr...

Don't think I'd recommend the electricians either.

Yesterday the guttering was finally completed. The entire render on one wall had to be re-done, it was so poor, which delayed fixing the gutters on top. I believe we are still waiting on a dry day or two for the other two rendered walls to be repainted. Looking at the weather today, I imagine we are in for a long wait! All the rendering and re-rendering has ruined the outside paintwork, so I am going to have some upset decorators back on a subsequent dry day to redo all their hard work.

Wouldn't recommend the renderers.

To be fair, I'm not sure which, if any, of the workers we've had on site that I would recommend. They are all lovely people, but each and every item has foolish errors in it. Door handles in the wrong place, threshold strips that are cock-eyed and 10cm from the door itself. Paint all over the light switches. Gaping holes in the plasterwork between sockets. Mucky fingerprints left in wet paintwork. Erroneous nails sticking out all over the place.

I seem to have had disasters with everything. The broadband didn't work when reconnected and after a couple of hour-long phone-calls it had to be switched off and on again at their end, and miraculously things began to communicate properly. The Aga lid has a chip in the enamel. The heat recovery system is now using small grills not large ones, and there is anxiety about the false ceiling, and the hugely expensive box that makes it work was left outside in the rain by the builders. The freezer wouldn't freeze: after a week of being on it had reached about -3 degrees. (This is after I had spent a day cleaning it. It had spent the previous 6 months in the builders' container. Unfortunately, in their wisdom, they had left a half-empty pint of milk inside it back in March. It reeked! On the positive side, it shows the seals on the freezer are in good condition; on the negative ... oh, the smell, the brown dripping gunge and the general feeling of queasiness whenever the door was opened. Bleuch.)

We have reached Practical Completion, and we are practically complete. The list of 131 items that need fixing is alive and active ... but we are getting there.

(And it is gorgeous. Really. Deep down, somewhere beyond the dust and dirt.)