June has been quite a hectic month socially, I did spend my birthday at the house with The Spouse taking down the ceilings on the top floor (more later). We appointed a builder and a great architect to draw up the plans for the extension, I met him at the house with my initial drawings back in May and I know he knows exactly what I want. He has come up with some fabulous ideas for the roof too.
Having discussed with the builder things that The Spouse and I can do to help keep the costs down, he suggested we take down the ceilings on the top floor. Armed with crow bar and club hammer, new steps, gloves and masks The Spouse and I started taking down the ceilings.
Our approach? Bang it hard enough and it will eventually fall down.
The reality? As The Spouse was working on the high areas using the steps, I was limited to working on areas I could reach. Luckily, the rooms at the top are in the eaves of the roof so there is plenty of ceiling area within reach. (I use the word 'luckily' very loosely) After taking down a couple of meters of lathe and plaster we began to hear a frightening slipping noise coming from outside, on the roof. the sound of heavy concrete roof tiles perhaps slipping gently downwards. I rushed outside and looked up at the side of the roof I'd been working on to see a scarily sized hole (approx 40x50cm). I wasn't too phased by it, as I knew the builder would be replacing the roof in a couple of weeks and it was summer, the sun was shining and it was a beautiful day. So back to the roof I go to carry on bashing away at the plaster. To be on the safe side, I thought I'd work on the opposite side for a bit. My arms were getting slightly tired at this stage, we were both covered in black dust and visibility, well it could've been better. So when I missed the plaster and hit the the roof felt a few times I wasn't prepared for the cascade of sliding concrete tiles that I heard. Neither was I prepared for the vast hole I could see from the road. The Spouse being his usual resourceful self in situations of crisis was running around crying like an hysterical female lead in a 70's disaster movie. The Spousal problem was easily resolved with a quick but stinging slap to the face, the roof would take a little more effort. The builder was consulted. He came up trumps and sent over his small but very strong son, who had to assemble his 3 way ladder up to the roof, in blistering heat, with only a scorned Spouse to hold the ladder (rather him than me).
Many thanks to the builder's son, the house was water tight once again. There was no more summer sunshine after that day, just the wettest June since records began.
Tuesday, 12 June 2007
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