Trying times

After a weekend poncing about in the sunshine and lyricising poetically about the Autumn colours, it was back to the reality of a renovation that continues, as it always has, to lurch from one disaster to one solution to another disaster - and hopefully to another solution.

The point of hiring the Polish plasterers (they are called Andre and Robert, by the way - the two most un-Polish names I could imagine) was that they would be good and quick and Chris and I wouldn't have to do the work. Well, that's all well and true - but we are still here while they sand endless square metres of plaster, which means it is impossible for us to do any other work without developing a serious lung problem in the process. All you can do is close the doors and leave them to it.

Not that closing the doors actually helps that much because that dust will get everywhere and anywhere despite any precautions to the contrary. As a result, the whole apartment had never been so dusty and dirty - thank God we put covers over all the important bits of furniture in anticipation. There is no point in really trying to do much interim cleaning as there will be more dust tomorrow - all I hope to do is keep the worst under control and do a massive clean up, for the very last time I hope, when they have finished. Debrah arrives on Friday - she isn't going to be happy with the dust but I reckon she might be happy with the progress.

And so to the disasters. We all stood looking at the plaster coming away from the ceiling for a good five minutes. "Ce n'est pas bon", said Andre.

No shit.

"Can you fix it?", said I, in French, in words that might have translated as 'can you fix it'.

So he hacked the loose stuff off and it appears that the previous layer he had applied hadn't dried properly and perhaps it hadn't made a decent bond with the old paintwork because they hadn't primed it or scored it and maybe the weight of it was too much in one go - and no, he didn't tell me all that in Polish or French - Chris and I had already worked it out for ourselves. So we suggested he scored it and Chris mixed up some of the new tile adhesive we had bought, to paint on as a bonding agent for the new plaster. So much for so called professionals - but at least we haven't had to do it ourselves and at least the whole ceiling doesn't have to come down.

I got on with finishing the painting in the other apartment because it needed doing and because nobody was sanding in there - in fact it's the cleanest place on the whole first floor - I might move in.

When they left this evening, they indicated that tomorrow will be their last day! Well, not from where I have been looking at the work still to do, but we'll cross that bridge in the morning when they arrive.

Meanwhile, the sun disappeared and the rain started again and Chris started measuring and calculating and decided that we hadn't bought enough tiles for the studio bathroom, hall and kitchen - about five square metres short he reckons - can't all be explained by the change in studio bathroom layout - somebody must have measured it wrongly.

Fucking hell and bollocks!

The somebody was obviously me and, of course, I don't know if the same tiles are still available until I make the trip to Tridome and ask the question.

Deep breath, stay calm - it will all work out. Now if I could just get paid for my work in London everything might be ok - just might be, that is.