It was an odd weekend.
We’d been so focussed on arriving on time for my aunt’s funeral that I’d put to one side the fact that I’d volunteered for the committee for my local woodland trust, with the first meeting due for this Sunday. While I was on holiday, the call for all hands went out, as the committee had applied for and received a huge stash of bulbs to be planted in the wood. The planting was scheduled for Saturday, filling up my weekend completely.
All of this clashed with home life. Over the last week the builders had ripped up the floorboards, dug out the excess earth and installed a damp-proof membrane and a basic deck of wood. We have a big empty echoing space fpr a living room right now, waiting for the floorboards to be sanded and oiled and nailed down on the deck; the dining room is crammed full of furniture from both rooms. In the style of Dodie Smith, I write these words sitting on the garden chair, brought into the living room to replace the sofa and chairs that have been evicted to the covered shelter in the garden to await the return of Floorboards. When the builders come back, the garden chairs can be folded up in a minute and carried outside to clear the room for further work.
Before the builders return, we have to repair the bodge previous owners have made of the house in terms of badly attached electrical sockets, dented wall plaster, broken skirting boards and a cement fireplace plinth built over the old floorboards. I’m not even going to mention that the downstairs power sockets are wired up as part of the upstairs lighting circuit – now the deck is nailed down, there’s no chance of re-wiring it correctly, as all of the wiring runs under this deck. We didn’t realise until we had to switch off the downstairs sockets at the mains to repair the damaged one, and found that we had to switch off the circuit breakers one by one until the power went off.
He’s been dealing with that on his own, as I’ve been off doing the tasks I agreed to take on as a committee member. Planting bulbs on Saturday, and attending a woodcraft workshop on Sunday. The first task was to build a bonfire, which I could have done without training; I’m the family arsonist. If the bonfire needs setting off, be it soaking wet or (on one famous occasion) topped with snow, it’s a job for me. Using a Kelly kettle was new, and I would not have whittled a spoon from a section of greenwood – me and sharp knives really do not get on, and they tend to win. But it was fun.
Hate to say it, but far more fun was Monday’s work in the house; rebuilding the cement plinth around the fireplace through the small gap in the deck. We have an adequate basic plinth in place now, and tomorrow we intend to finish the rest of the plinth to a good standard. By the time the builders return, they will have a squared off fireplace plinth to butt the floorboards up against, and we can replace the tiles above that level after they’ve left.
It’s brought home to us that we do not have Real Cats. A Real Cat would have waited till the cement was almost dry and ‘signed’ it. Our cats have spent this cold day fast asleep on the bed. Sounds like a plan for us on Wednesday.
Julia Chalkley 