The trouble with meter readings

Yesterday the man came to read the meters. Of course, I was out, so he left a card for me to fill in the readings and leave in a prominent position today.

I hate reading the meters, particularly the electricity. This is when I curse the builders we had from here to kingdom come. Blue air all around. This is the procedure I took in order to complete the request.

1. Be prepared. Get the torch and the screwdriver.

2. Check torch: find the battery has gone. Find spare batteries.

3. Discover that new batteries also don't make the torch work. Find another torch.

4. Only torch I can find is a headlamp. Don't laugh.

5. Put on the light in the pantry. Pull out the set of steps and use them to wedge the door open.

6. Sort out all the empty bottles that were thrown into the recycling box and missed...

7. Empty pantry of big boxes and packs of drinks that fill the floor space. 

8. Remove the vegetable rack.

9. Put the trays on the kitchen table.

10. Kneel on the (horribly dusty) floor in the corner of the pantry.

11. Remove 4 screws from wooden panel, and then the panel.

12. Using headlamp, read electricity meter about 1m away in the depths of this cupboard. (Note to self: need opticians appointment!)

13. Go back into house to find pen and paper to write down the number.

14. Reverse steps 7-11.

The Gas meter is a lot easier, being in a box outside. It was only complicated by the fact that (a) I couldn't find the back door key and (b) that silly triangular key is always at the bottom of the drawer.

I hope our energy company realise how much effort I go to on their behalf. By the end of all that I feel ready for another cup of tea! 

Photo credit: from the film Delicatessen (1991)

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 ...

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.)

And then chaos reigned

On the morning of the move I prayed that there would be no rain. God answered this prayer, providing an unexpectedly warm, sunny day - except for one hour of magnificent thunderstorm whilst we were at a school meeting about our daughter's progress (Doesn't everyone squeeze in important educational meetings on the same day they move house? Really? It's another post altogether, I'm afraid.)

Yet God must have been laughing. "OK, I'll keep the rain off the move, but the payback is (a) no running water in the house by morning and (b) rain, rain, rain all night."

The running water meant we couldn't flush the loo. Again, this might have been all right if it weren't that our en suite bathroom has no door between it and our bedroom. A gentle aroma wafted through ... It also meant the children were unable to wash before the morning, so the next day started with a dash to school to use their toilets and washbasins to rinse off the previous evening's dirt.

The storms through the night would also have been fun if the builders had completed the guttering and downpipes. I was woken about 3am to the sound of dripping water and couldn't sleep for hours until it stopped. I now have an understanding of the terrors of water torture: I would have sworn to anything in order to make it cease.

Exhausted, I started the working day with a meeting about parts for the heat recovery system. In its wisdom our suppliers had decided (between our ordering and installation) not to issue certain switches any more, resulting in a bunch of useless electrical wires hanging out around the house and a cross client. Whilst the representative was explaining the alternative options to me and the architect, my architect got a phone call. The building company had decided to sack my site manager.

The day was a bit of a whirl after that. The site manager had gone off sick the day before, but came back to collect his things and say goodbye. I'd always had a good relationship with him, although I cannot deny that I was cross that the house was not completed on time. Was that his fault? I don't know. Some blame must also lie with his supervisors, who should have been monitoring and pushing in a more timely fashion. Was that a sackable offence? Perhaps. But during the day all sorts of other stories come out of the woodwork. I still don't know the truth. All I know is that I was left in the lurch.

What doesn't magically appear is a completed house. Around 3pm I asked the joiners who was in charge on site. They looked at each other and around themselves, then looked at me. "You," seemed to be the reply. No managers from the building company showed their faces all day. My architect was excellent and stayed until lunchtime, but after that I was on my own, trying to encourage the joiners, electricians, plumbers, decorators and external diggers to complete everything in some sort of logical fashion.

The kids and I ended up going for fish and chips for tea. It was a lovely, warm evening so we sat outside the shop to eat them. I dreaded going back to the chaos inside our home. At least the water problem was solved: the electrician put the pump back on. But all I could foresee was me organising the rest of the build, and I wasn't sure I'd paid all that money to a supposedly reputable building company for that to be my job.

The move - Part 2

Tuesday dawned.

I'd heard the weather report. Storms. Rain sweeping up from the south-west. The North-West was going to be wet all day. I prayed that it would be dry for my move: I didn't want mud inside my beautiful new house.

It was the standard morning routine: husband left for work at the crack of dawn; I battled to get the children up and dressed, fed and out of the house before 8.15. My friend (very tolerant of an early start) had offered to take them to school, so I could meet with the architect at the house at 8.30. In the melee of getting the kids ready I missed a call from my site manager on my mobile. I listened to it as we walked down the road.

He said that the floor was still wet: the varnish was tacky. We couldn't move in.

My home is in boxes. My children are sorted. My removal men are due. My friends are organised into helping. But my house - hallway, living room, landing and spare bedroom - are all inaccessible.

The rooms aren't the problem. The problem is the hallway and landing. Getting to site the architect and I make an assessment. Upstairs was done first, so is drier. Putting down some rolls of cardboard there it is okay. However, the plank of wood from porch to first stair, set at a jaunty angle, is no comfortable route for removal men to carry heavy beds, boxes and furniture.

The architect and I have a quiet word. If we put all the downstairs furniture into the family room (it has a French window we can bring everything through) first, perhaps the varnish will have dried. If I can delay the removal men by a couple of hours, better still. The kitchen is filthy. In a typical male fashion, the site manager has arranged for a top-to-toe clean on the Wednesday - the following day! There are piles of dust covering the kitchen. "It's clean underneath," says the site manager, helpfully whipping off some of the card that covers my precious kitchen surfaces.

The kitchen, shortly before we moved in.

Finally I glimpse what it should look like. (But he was wrong about the cleanliness.)

The site manager is deputed to find a cleaner to come and clean the kitchen, whilst I go home to finish packing. I have two friends there already, so we grab brush, mop and cleaning materials and head back to tackle the kitchen. Who needs to pack when there is little to move in to?

Cutting a long day short, I have wonderful friends and rubbish builders. The removal men finally finished putting up our bed about 8pm, as the light faded completely. The builders hadn't put light-bulbs in the sockets, so it was getting most gloomy. The only lights that worked were the ceiling spots (well, most were in the ceiling: a few hung down from wires and many were at odd angles).

As I went to get the children I delighted that we were actually in ... but knew that this was just the beginning of a long haul to get the house finished. Everywhere I looked there were errors or tweaks or simple disasters to be resolved. The electrician had left us with a few circuits working. We had no door handles and, in many cases, no locks on the doors. We were tiptoeing over cardboard runways, hoping not to damage the floor underneath. Half the house still needed to be painted and glossed. And I haven't even started on the chaos that is outside: mounds of earth and rubble, no portaloo for the workers, mud squelching a path around the building.

Still, we're in. And that's good. Right?

Yes. But discovering before we went to bed that we had no water was not so good.

The move: part 1

There's a gap in the building works - I have electricity and am (at long last) updating my blog.

Not that I've been without electricity entirely this last two weeks, though at times it has felt that way. To reassure anyone who worried when the man on the Today programme yesterday spoke about the risk of solar flares, and how one big one could destroy the world's electronic system entirely (apparently we'll have about 20 minutes warning - barely enough time to back-up!), it is possible to survive without most of what we consider 'normal'.

It's just not necessarily pleasant.

My last blog post was a gripe about deadlines. Or their ability to be missed. Our builders are still missing them, into their eighth week of overrun. Since I last wrote we have actually moved in (given the rental contract was up there was little choice!) but our belongings remain, for the most part, in boxes. Today I just had decorators; yesterday joiners and electricians; but someone to fix the mess following the plumbing leak would be useful (I'd like to use the toilet!)

All this industry for a house that was, supposedly, perfect and ready for us to move into two weeks ago. Having moved a few bits and pieces in that previous Friday we were optimistic. We popped in over the weekend a couple of times, being assured that the stained and varnished floor would be dry before we move in. I only got a little irate about finding a man kneeling on the floor with an electric saw, slicing lengths of wood, scattering sawdust everywhere, just next to my sofa. My request for a dustsheet to cover it had fallen on deaf ears.

It is never fun, moving house. I should know: we calculated that in 13 years of marriage we have moved 11 times. Too often, I say. But this is our 'forever house' - I hope - so the weekend of packing boxes, trying to keep out only the most important things, labelling everything: yes, it will all be worth it, I kept telling myself. I organised an army of girls to help me with the move, given that the builders' delay meant my husband was back at work and unable to contribute during the day. They were great, helping to finish packing at one end and unpack at the other.

At least, that was the plan. Then Tuesday happened.

The value of deadlines

My children have successfully completed their 'Space Hop' Summer Reading Challenge at the Library. They've each read at least 6 books within the two months the challenge lasted. My own reading challenge has been less successful: only completing three library books, although I am halfway through another two at the moment.

The bigger deadline (the completion of our house refurbishment) has also come and gone. Contractually due to complete 30 July, revised to 20 August (bearable), re-revised to 31 August (unsatisfactory), changed on 30 August to be 1 September... until yesterday we were due to move in. That deadline has also come and gone. The final revised and largely immovable deadline for moving is this Tuesday (our rental agreement expires!) If you looked at the house today you would wonder how on earth that would be feasible. All in all it is making for a depressing weekend.

The depression is compounded by the workers downing tools on Friday lunchtime as (allegedly) they hadn't been paid. That crisis appears to have been dealt with by the building company, since they were all back on site this morning, but it made for a very uncomfortable afternoon and doesn't inspire a lot of confidence. The boss assures us it will be ready on Tuesday, but I fear all the workers are worn out. This means they are not working at optimum speed and the final push to complete is being done without any fuel in their tanks.

The deadline to be in before term began has passed. The house is packed and we are living surrounded by boxes. Now I am just hopeful that we will be in before we have friends for dinner on Saturday! 

The failure of this deadline has a knock-on effect. I had set a personal deadline of September to being resending my book to agents and publishers. The chaos at home means I simply can't get my head around it. I had also planned to revamp the blog: I shall be lucky if I have internet access after Tuesday, so another delay there. We have so many activities and visits planned for September and October that we will be lucky to draw breath - yet we need a secure home base to work from!

So, we plod on, step by step, day by day. When all is resolved, we will be living in a stunning house and all these trials and tribulations will be something to laugh about over dinner. Perhaps with friends on Saturday ... definitely by Christmas (do I speak too soon?)!

In the meantime, I might get back to my books: at least they take me away from my worries in this world and transport me to someplace else!

Conversations you don't expect to have...

Last week I called the builder. I was about to order the flooring and other bits for the house and needed to know when he wanted them.

"I've got quite a list," I said. "Shall I start at the top and work down?"

"Okay," he said. "Fire away."

"Well, first on the list is floor tiles. When would you like them delivered?"

There was a pause whilst he checked lists and schedules. "How about 2 August?"

I laughed. Clearly he's joking (as he has before), since the job is due to finish 30 July. My plan is to move in on 2 August.

"Very funny," I said. "Now, when do you really want them?"

"2 August."

Alarm bells start ringing. "But you finish on 30 July."

"No, we finish on 30 August."

Alarm bells deafening the brain's functioning cells. "Erm, no! 30 July."

There was a period of banter where we flung final dates at each other, then he explained everything that needed to be done and how there was six weeks of plastering to be done and four weeks of decorating and still the drains and the plumbing and electrics and...

"I think I'd better just speak to my architect about this," I finally squeezed in, and the conversation ended.

My architect (well, his substitute: he has inconveniently gone off on paternity leave!) was a little bemused. He checked his records. Yes: everything was 30 July. The contract we signed just a few weeks ago: yes, 30 July. I left him to break the news to the building contractors.

It was too early in the day to start on the gin. (No, really, it was. Even in this situation I couldn't resort to that!) So I went and ate a tonne of chocolate instead...


And now? Well, I suspect we'll split the difference! They are hoping to bring in the job two weeks early, and I am thus anticipating moving in two weeks late. (Or maybe three...) There are many more men on site and I think a lot of overtime will be worked but thankfully we are protected by the contract. And I have utter confidence in our builders, who have stated that they won't let us move back in unless the finish is perfect - so they'd better not cut corners!

Oh, the joys of building projects!

There are reasons why I haven't blogged about the house renovation for a while. Principally because this:

... now looks like this ...

It doesn't feel like much of a change. It is not that the builders aren't working (they have an August deadline) but that the bits they are doing are not the instant-destruction phase nor the gloss-and-glam phase. They are putting in insulation, doing the first fix electrics and plumbing, they are laying the underfloor heating and treating the external woodwork. It is all vital to the finished product, and still requires a million decisions being made by us, but overall not very exciting to talk about.

I am constantly being asked how it is going and can only say that, to the best of my knowledge, it is going fine. No-one is (yet!) indicating that it will run late. I'm not having to make too many wildly expensive additions to the budget (note: this is not the same as there being no wildly expensive additions...). I am beginning to think about the finishing touches, which is rather exciting, and thinking about the practicalities of moving back in, which isn't.

Still, there are only six weeks left! The tiling of the roof should finish this week and the windows can't be far off. I've ordered hundreds of pounds of bathroom fittings and taps. I'm going to take a big deep breath and fork out a small fortune to boost the water pressure. I am anticipating a schedule of what I need to buy for when: tiles, flooring, fitted wardrobe, shelving, light fittings, etc. etc. Hopefully over the next few weeks I can begin to show some completed work.

The one thing I cling on to is that the kitchen is ordered. If nothing else arrives or works, at least we should be able to eat!

Going, going, gone!

I haven't blogged about the house renovations for some time, so felt it was probably appropriate to get you back up-to-date. After all, I am inundated with questions about it all the time from the neighbours (and, in fact, just about anyone who lives in the village)!

If I am honest, this is the point when I have really wondered whether we've gone too far with the house renovations. There are now no floorboards in the house and holes knocked through walls left, right and centre. We have found asbestos in the garages, which needs removing by specialists. Thankfully there are still four walls, although I do wonder whether we would have been better knocking it all down and starting again...

Once upon a time, our house looked like this.

Those were the days. The sun shone, the flowers bloomed and the grass was green.

And, we had a roof on the house.

Then ... the builders got to work. Last week they began taking off the tiles. When walking the children to school in the morning they were beginning to remove the tiles; by the time I collected them they were nearly all gone. A couple more days and all the rafters had been thrown to the ground as well (our front lawn is covered in old, nail-ridden wood). On Tuesday morning it looked like this:

By lunchtime, it looked like this:

And by the end of the day destruction had transformed to construction...

There is yet hope that we will have a watertight house and a home to live in within three months!

(Note to self: keep focussing on the end product!!)

Hidden treasure

Part of the joy of refurbishment is not knowing what you will find. Whilst our house is gradually being dismantled, the builders found this writing underneath wallpaper in the spare bedroom. 

Presumably it was last decorated in 1959 - over fifty years ago. If that is true, the wallpaper was holding up well. If it referred to a previous papering, nevertheless it is an interesting piece of history. I wonder whether H Oakley is still around today?

It reminds me of a tongue-in-cheek (I hope!) piece of advice I heard recently. Before wallpapering a room, buy some blood-red paint and write on the wall "I WILL KILL AGAIN". I suspect my equivalent in 20, 30, 40 or 50 years' time would have a wildly exciting blog post to read then!

It is quite a tradition to leave your mark, much like the stonemasons did in carving their faces in the decorations of cathedrals and stately homes, or wood-carvers did with their initials in the details of screens and decorations. I will be intrigued to find out what our builders write on the wall to be uncovered in the future. 

Old houses give up so much of their past and we are determined to maintain as many of our house's quirks as possible. There is an old doorbell in the hallway (painted over many, many times) that we wish to keep as it probably dates from the 1930s when the original house was built. We'd like to keep the deep skirting boards and the coving (which is probably not original, but of a simple style that feels in keeping with the inter-war period). Stripping the wallpaper has revealed that there were picture rails in most of the rooms, which we'd like to reinstate.

In contrast, the back end of the house, where the previous extensions have been built, is to be more modern in style. This is where there will be large windows overlooking the garden; this is where we will have clean, sharp lines and our open-plan living space. Whether we'll ever be capable of keeping our house in the minimalist style I picture in my head I don't know - it rather goes against the natural habits of our family! 

I am so excited now the works are finally underway. It is such a relief to be progressing, even if there are already hitches (our kitchen appears to be 60cm smaller than the architect's drawings, for example...) but I am actually challenged and energised by them, rather than despondent and despairing. Remind me of that last sentence when things get more difficult in weeks to come... 

Hopefully we will be able to leave some history in the house that future generations will uncover and enjoy. We may only be planning for the next 20 years, but we hope the house will remain a family home for many more decades to come. 

For those who are interested, here are some before and after photos from just a week of the build.

Before:

After:

Before:

After:

There is still a long way to go...

There's no going back!

I fear my blog will now become 'Building Blog' or, more likely, 'Withenay wobbles'. As of Monday the renovation of our house began.

The last couple of weeks have been a mad scramble to find rented accommodation, and pack, and move, and get our home ready for the builders. As you could tell from my last post, this was stressing me out. Things are on a more even keel now and the serious work of making our aged house into a home fit for the 21st century has begun. 

On Monday morning, as I walked the kids to school, there was a portaloo in the driveway: seriously, that was the first thing they moved onto the site! I realised there was no going back when this arrived in the back garden mid-morning:

By the end of the day a skip had also arrived. Better still, it is now lined with the remnants of this:

And the men set to work removing the wallpaper, so now this too doesn't exist:

... nor this ...

...nor this ...

We know all this as we watch the skip fill up on our walks to and from school. I shall be back on site tomorrow, hopefully, to take some pictures of our denuded home. In theory, all the work will be finished by the end of July - indeed, the site manager told me he's aiming to finish a week early, which is all very well given he threatened November in an earlier conversation! 


Until then we are enjoying our rented home. Although we are surrounded by boxes and I still don't know where any paperwork is (although I have found my daughter's spelling book, which is a relief), we do have a couple of exciting facilities:


1  A dishwasher. This was the best incentive to get my son to tidy his room before moving. "The sooner we move the sooner we'll have a dishwasher and then you won't have to do any drying up." Boy, did he move quickly! (Clearly he now has to fill and empty the dishwasher, but it is a less arduous task!)


2  A cooker. Better, a range cooker. Having survived for nearly ten months on a single hob and a microwave, the mammoth machine in the rented house is eye-watering! It has seven hobs and three ovens, I believe. I'm totally in awe of it ... and still can't get my head around the fact I could put two pans on the hob at the same time. And I could bake cookies, or cakes, or anything. Wow!


But now I must go and finish unpacking a couple more boxes. I am determined our temporary home will be set straight by the end of the weekend (even if my only contribution is to find the bottom of the ironing basket...)

Paths are never straight

We are planning a major refurbishment of our house, due to start in March.

The paths are about the only thing that are straight and are not (presently) causing problems. At the moment I am only worried about:

(a) finding somewhere to live whilst work is going on; and

(b) finding somewhere to store an extra three rooms worth of stuff for the duration; and

(c) working out how to reduce the anticipated tender price by a sum that is enough to buy an entirely new house elsewhere in the country.

The drains don't run straight. They are wonky, old, leaking and need to be repaired. Another cost to add to the refurb...

Next week the tenders come in, and then I go through them with as much hard-heartedness as I can muster to reduce the costs. Having had this great vision for the house (a sad, aged place at the moment) it is difficult to let go of the dream 'just because of money'. But, of course, there are always compromises and I refuse to be ridiculously in debt just because of our wonderful aspirations.

What saddens me most is that it is the 'green' things that are likely to be dropped. The render won't be insulating render, just ordinary stuff. The windows will only be replaced if falling apart, so we will continue to lose bucketloads of heat through the poor glazing. The plan for an air-source heat pump, which will save us money on bills in the long term, will be abandoned for an ordinary gas condensing boiler.

Instead of all these glorious, eco-friendly things, we will replace aged drains and the roof.

It is such a shame that it costs so much to be green. As the world gradually accepts how much damage we are doing to ourselves, what a shame that simple remedies are mind-bogglingly expensive. Our government (and opposition) all speak the green talk, but there is scant support for projects like ours that would actually be helping their carbon targets. At some point they will have to support the renovation and upgrade of our aging housing stock. Campaign groups like the Great British Refurb Campaign are battling to get more support. Sadly, I fear it is too late for us.

Meanwhile, please forgive me if there is a bit of blogger silence as I resolve all the housing issues. I plan to keep you updated with pictures of progress when we finally get going. Keep your fingers crossed for no more unexpected surprises.... really, I'd like a straight path - please?