The completion date for the appartment renovation has been moved back so many times I have lost count. It was originally scheduled to be finished at the end of May so that it could go on the market to rich holidaymakers from the beginning of July. That idea was scrapped when it became clear it just wasn't going to be ready in time. We are now looking to have both the appartment and the studio ready for letting next year, which naturally has a big knock-on effect on our income which is causing much angst. Of more immediate concern, and also causing much angst, is the arrival of guests and our own dear sweet grown up sulky teenager children on 13th July in time for the French national holiday festivities and fireworks the following day.
This is a deadline that can't be moved. The guests have to stay in the newly renovated and finished appartment, so time is now very much in short supply. Admittedly, some of the delays have been caused by changes of mind and changes of plan which have added to the workload - such as lifting the ceiling, moving the bedroom wall, re-planning the bathroom layout and replastering the whole appartment! The trough of despair that gripped 'the genius' for a month or two didn't help much either as his productivity slowed to next to nothing - or 'glacial speed' as my wife so wonderfully phrased it.
However, for the past week and a half he seems to be, mostly, focused again and Ed's arrival has pushed things on at a hitherto unknown pace. Indeed, I was pleasantly surprised this afternoon when 'the genius' asked if Ed could stay for a few days longer as it would really help. So instead of going home on Saturday, Ed is going to stay until next Wednesday.
After my fall last week, my productivity has been a bit variable. The day after I was a bit stiff and sore but then things felt better. However, I am now, despite getting straight back on the ladder and the scaffold, a lot more circumspect and wary and feel a lot less cavalier and nervous which is slowing me down a bit. As I haven't really been sat with my feet up, I haven't really given anything a chance to get over the impact of the fall - so, nearly one week on, the bruising is a lovely colour and my leg is quite sore and still a bit swollen. The bruising is also a very good indicator of all the impact points. I was so pre-occupied with my lower right leg because that is what was hurting like hell, that I didn't consider anything else a problem. The very beautiful purple and yellow hues now showing indicate a substantial impact on my left knee too, as well as the whole of my right forearm and wrist.
Adding to that, I've now got a carpet burn on my left arm. It's not what you're thinking though - it's from the new piece of seagrass that I purchased this afternoon to go onto the bedroom and hallway floor in the appartment. Loading a five by four metre piece of carpet into the top of an Audi Cabriolet isn't easy and damage to me, the car and the carpet sadly ensued - though thankfully none of it serious.
Despite all that, and before asking Ed to stay on, I took the decision to stay for two extra days by delaying my return to London from today until Friday. It was a difficult decision to make because there are several things I need to do in London for work and, inevitably, having made my choice, something else cropped up which I can't deal with from here.
I rely on the internet and skype and my mobile phone for doing my job from here - but the good old British banking system doesn't want to play the game. I can do most things on line or by phone but, apparently, sending money to an overseas supplier still requires me to turn up at the branch in person and complete the relevant forms. I shall take a quill pen with me and ask for a pot of ink for said task. Bah humbug to them all!
Wednesday, 27 June 2007
Sunday, 24 June 2007
Meeting People
After the excitement of last week, it has been a quiet weekend spent mostly at home. We have put in a few hours work on both days on the ongoing eternal skimming of walls. Thankfully, the warm weather means it all dries overnight ready to be worked on again the next day. We sat down after dinner this evening and planned the week's activity and listed the materials that I will need to buy before I go back to London for a couple of days.
Ed went out sightseeing both afternoons, which officially means he has done more sightseeing in one week than the genius has managed in six months - surely there is only so much sitting in your room looking at the internet you can do - but each to their own I suppose.
Yesterday I met some friends for lunch and a glass of wine. It has become something of a ritual to meet at cafe Saillan at 12.00 on a Saturday - it is a popular lunch spot, does an excellent tapas plate for €5 cooked outside on the street by one of a small group of local suppliers who rotate week by week (including my favourite butcher from the market who usually does an excellent charcuterie plate and foie gras). There is often a street band playing which jollies everyone along and the location is ideal to catch the midday sun - so there is always a rush for outside tables and chairs.
What's great is that there will always be someone there - so if you can't make it one week or the next, you will always be welcomed back when you can - good for me travelling back and forward to the UK - and because the group has a large French contingent it has been invaluable for me learning to speak the language more fluently and to understand some of the French psyche. For instance, yesterday, Pierre, who runs a shop called Highlander which sells 'British' furniture, crockery and so on to the French, arrived and declined a glass of wine, announcing that he had made a 'bon resolution' not to drink alcohol today, after which he proceeded to order the first of the three peroquets that he consumed. A peroquet is a pastis and menthe mixture with ice and water which combines into a refreshing smoky green drink - but, the point being, is that pastis is clearly not classed as alcohol in France, just as cava is not classed as alcohol in Catalunya - "It is not dangerous", explained the maitre'd at a hotel we stayed in near to Girona some years ago.
I have met many new acquaintances through this group, including the mayor, who regularly turns up to shake some hands and accept a free glass of wine or six. It is a fact of French life that the mayor is an integral part of anything that happens in any French village, town or city. In England the mayor only ever seems to be seen at official functions or in local council meetings and is usually wearing his mayoral bling. In all the places I have lived in England I have never once met the mayor or seen him around town. Here, I have met the mayor three times, have seen him countless others and his face is in the local paper everyday doing something or other - everything that happens here goes through the mayor's office, yet for all that influence he appears to be the most self-effacing, warm and friendly man and is always very casual in his dress and approach to everyone he meets. This week there is a meeting, hosted by the mayor, where the town's plans for development and improvement of the bastide town, where I live, will be presented. I will probably only understand some of what will be said but it should be interesting to see what is envisaged for the town, assuming I can work it out!
Ed went out sightseeing both afternoons, which officially means he has done more sightseeing in one week than the genius has managed in six months - surely there is only so much sitting in your room looking at the internet you can do - but each to their own I suppose.
Yesterday I met some friends for lunch and a glass of wine. It has become something of a ritual to meet at cafe Saillan at 12.00 on a Saturday - it is a popular lunch spot, does an excellent tapas plate for €5 cooked outside on the street by one of a small group of local suppliers who rotate week by week (including my favourite butcher from the market who usually does an excellent charcuterie plate and foie gras). There is often a street band playing which jollies everyone along and the location is ideal to catch the midday sun - so there is always a rush for outside tables and chairs.
What's great is that there will always be someone there - so if you can't make it one week or the next, you will always be welcomed back when you can - good for me travelling back and forward to the UK - and because the group has a large French contingent it has been invaluable for me learning to speak the language more fluently and to understand some of the French psyche. For instance, yesterday, Pierre, who runs a shop called Highlander which sells 'British' furniture, crockery and so on to the French, arrived and declined a glass of wine, announcing that he had made a 'bon resolution' not to drink alcohol today, after which he proceeded to order the first of the three peroquets that he consumed. A peroquet is a pastis and menthe mixture with ice and water which combines into a refreshing smoky green drink - but, the point being, is that pastis is clearly not classed as alcohol in France, just as cava is not classed as alcohol in Catalunya - "It is not dangerous", explained the maitre'd at a hotel we stayed in near to Girona some years ago.
I have met many new acquaintances through this group, including the mayor, who regularly turns up to shake some hands and accept a free glass of wine or six. It is a fact of French life that the mayor is an integral part of anything that happens in any French village, town or city. In England the mayor only ever seems to be seen at official functions or in local council meetings and is usually wearing his mayoral bling. In all the places I have lived in England I have never once met the mayor or seen him around town. Here, I have met the mayor three times, have seen him countless others and his face is in the local paper everyday doing something or other - everything that happens here goes through the mayor's office, yet for all that influence he appears to be the most self-effacing, warm and friendly man and is always very casual in his dress and approach to everyone he meets. This week there is a meeting, hosted by the mayor, where the town's plans for development and improvement of the bastide town, where I live, will be presented. I will probably only understand some of what will be said but it should be interesting to see what is envisaged for the town, assuming I can work it out!
Friday, 22 June 2007
Back on it
Whether it be a bicycle, a horse or a ladder, there is only one thing to do when you have a fall - get straight back on, or up in this case. So this afternoon I was back up the ladder continuing the sanding that I was in the middle of doing yesterday. I didn't feel that confident but I had to do it. Actually, I only managed about an hours work today, but thankfully Ed and the genius have been cracking on so everything is still on track for mid-July.
I awoke feeling very stiff-jointed but extremely thankful that it was no more than that. Remarkably, the swelling below my knee has gone down already and after another clean of my wounds they don't look too bad - sorry to have made such a fuss. Mind you, as the throbbing below my knee has receded I have realised that there were other impact points which are now feeling a bit tender. It also makes me realise that I am not as young as I once was and even without the effects of the fall my left ankle, right knee, right wrist and both shoulders have been complaining for months. It's a strange situation to feel stronger and fitter than I have done for twenty years yet have continuous aches and twinges and clicks and cracks of muscles and bones.
I am still a bit puzzled though about the dent made in the ladder. We have all examined it from every angle and the only conclusion is that the impact was between my leg and the ladder rung. Maybe I have solid bones because there doesn't appear to be any serious or permanent damage - to me anyway. I have never broken a bone (please don't let that be tempting fate) and I remember the surgeon who removed my molar teeth, twenty five years ago, telling me he had to virtually stand on my chest to pull them out because my jaw was so hard. I like to think the reason I have always been heavy for my height is down to my bone structure - no, don't laugh - please.
Last night all the town was out for the music festival. Bars that usually only open at lunchtime had tables out in the street and bars that don't serve food in the evening had a 'menu du soir' especially for the occasion. Every open window seemed to be belting out some form of music and every square in town had a stage set up and bands playing. At the top of the hill was a stage with french rap artists for the young people. Over by the canal port was a stage with some french rock (surely an oxymoron). The courtyard of the Musee de Beaux Arts had a jazz concert and the main square had a band playing tributes to the traditional French 'chanson'. Overriding it all was a fantastic atmosphere, everyone out eating, drinking and bumping into friends and acquaintances.
For my part, several glasses of red wine, home before midnight for a chat with my loved one and a couple of nurofen before bed made sure that I didn't feel a thing until this morning.
I awoke feeling very stiff-jointed but extremely thankful that it was no more than that. Remarkably, the swelling below my knee has gone down already and after another clean of my wounds they don't look too bad - sorry to have made such a fuss. Mind you, as the throbbing below my knee has receded I have realised that there were other impact points which are now feeling a bit tender. It also makes me realise that I am not as young as I once was and even without the effects of the fall my left ankle, right knee, right wrist and both shoulders have been complaining for months. It's a strange situation to feel stronger and fitter than I have done for twenty years yet have continuous aches and twinges and clicks and cracks of muscles and bones.
I am still a bit puzzled though about the dent made in the ladder. We have all examined it from every angle and the only conclusion is that the impact was between my leg and the ladder rung. Maybe I have solid bones because there doesn't appear to be any serious or permanent damage - to me anyway. I have never broken a bone (please don't let that be tempting fate) and I remember the surgeon who removed my molar teeth, twenty five years ago, telling me he had to virtually stand on my chest to pull them out because my jaw was so hard. I like to think the reason I have always been heavy for my height is down to my bone structure - no, don't laugh - please.
Last night all the town was out for the music festival. Bars that usually only open at lunchtime had tables out in the street and bars that don't serve food in the evening had a 'menu du soir' especially for the occasion. Every open window seemed to be belting out some form of music and every square in town had a stage set up and bands playing. At the top of the hill was a stage with french rap artists for the young people. Over by the canal port was a stage with some french rock (surely an oxymoron). The courtyard of the Musee de Beaux Arts had a jazz concert and the main square had a band playing tributes to the traditional French 'chanson'. Overriding it all was a fantastic atmosphere, everyone out eating, drinking and bumping into friends and acquaintances.
For my part, several glasses of red wine, home before midnight for a chat with my loved one and a couple of nurofen before bed made sure that I didn't feel a thing until this morning.
Thursday, 21 June 2007
Taking a fall
It's full steam ahead this week with work progressing at a pace hitherto unknown. We have three weeks to complete the apartment before our first guests of the summer arrive and things are, mostly, going to plan. Having Ed here is helping enormously, as it means that if I have to chase round for materials or sit down and do work for London, the genius isn't left soldiering on on his own - stuff is always getting done. In fact it has lifted his mood enormously which is a good thing for us all.
There has been the usual treasure hunt from one DIY store to another, as previously identified materials suddenly vanish from the shelves the minute we want them. Will we never learn and just buy them when we see them and store them until we need them? This week it was fibreglass to mix into a concrete floor for strengthening and a kitchen worktop that was suddenly in short supply - lots of marble effect browny, bluey, greeny, grey rubbish but plain white - don't be silly. Perseverence paid off and the items were eventually successfully tracked down.
I said things were mostly going to plan. Me falling off a ladder certainly wasn't part of the plan. I am aching and a bit shaky, the gash on my leg stings like hell and the bruising is going to be spectacular - but I don't think anything is broken, so I am probably a bit lucky.
With three of us working we are now sharing tools - Ed was on the scaffold, the genius on one ladder and me on the longer ladder, fully extended, with me reaching to get to the top of the high ceiling. I should really have been on the scaffold but hindsight doesn't help me feel any better.
I have been up and down that ladder a thousand times without a care - but today I sensed that something was wrong and couldn't work it out. In fact I had the ladder the wrong way round and with a dusty parquet floor and me reaching up ... well. It's a fairly sickening feeling when the ladder starts to slip. There is enough time to think 'This isn't good', 'There is nothing I can do to prevent this' and finally, 'This is going to hurt.' I can assure you that landing on top of a metal ladder hurts like hell, despite bracing myself for it and rolling away on impact. The magnitude of the impact is now there for all to see because one of the ladder rungs - the one that messed my leg up - is bent. So I think I should get a pen and write on it in large letters 'Peter's rung', as it will now be forever known.
It's always the same isn't it - just when things start going well, something comes along to give you a reality check. I hope this doesn't slow me up because there is still lots to do. I'll see how my leg feels in the morning and take it from there.
In the meantime, today is the longest day of the year, which is celebrated in a traditional manner all across France. No, I don't mean dancing naked around the town fountain shaking a tambourine - I mean a music festival. I don't understand why either but hey - it's free and on my doorstep and hopefully will take my mind off the throbbing pain below my knee.
There has been the usual treasure hunt from one DIY store to another, as previously identified materials suddenly vanish from the shelves the minute we want them. Will we never learn and just buy them when we see them and store them until we need them? This week it was fibreglass to mix into a concrete floor for strengthening and a kitchen worktop that was suddenly in short supply - lots of marble effect browny, bluey, greeny, grey rubbish but plain white - don't be silly. Perseverence paid off and the items were eventually successfully tracked down.
I said things were mostly going to plan. Me falling off a ladder certainly wasn't part of the plan. I am aching and a bit shaky, the gash on my leg stings like hell and the bruising is going to be spectacular - but I don't think anything is broken, so I am probably a bit lucky.
With three of us working we are now sharing tools - Ed was on the scaffold, the genius on one ladder and me on the longer ladder, fully extended, with me reaching to get to the top of the high ceiling. I should really have been on the scaffold but hindsight doesn't help me feel any better.
I have been up and down that ladder a thousand times without a care - but today I sensed that something was wrong and couldn't work it out. In fact I had the ladder the wrong way round and with a dusty parquet floor and me reaching up ... well. It's a fairly sickening feeling when the ladder starts to slip. There is enough time to think 'This isn't good', 'There is nothing I can do to prevent this' and finally, 'This is going to hurt.' I can assure you that landing on top of a metal ladder hurts like hell, despite bracing myself for it and rolling away on impact. The magnitude of the impact is now there for all to see because one of the ladder rungs - the one that messed my leg up - is bent. So I think I should get a pen and write on it in large letters 'Peter's rung', as it will now be forever known.
It's always the same isn't it - just when things start going well, something comes along to give you a reality check. I hope this doesn't slow me up because there is still lots to do. I'll see how my leg feels in the morning and take it from there.
In the meantime, today is the longest day of the year, which is celebrated in a traditional manner all across France. No, I don't mean dancing naked around the town fountain shaking a tambourine - I mean a music festival. I don't understand why either but hey - it's free and on my doorstep and hopefully will take my mind off the throbbing pain below my knee.
Tuesday, 19 June 2007
What a mess
(to be read in a Channel 4 geordie voiceover accent)
Day two in the big brother house. What effect will the new arrival have on the delicate balance of human emotions? Will Ed get up on time? Will he have a hangover? How will that affect his work? Will he do enough to impress the moody genius? Has getting pissed on day one blown his chances of lasting the two weeks? Will he be voted out before he's even begun?
Well in fact (you can revert to normal voice now) he was up on time and raring to go and it's been quite a productive day - so well done Ed. Not that everything went to plan, of course, but we achieved a lot which makes us feel a bit more comfortable about hitting the deadline day of 13th July, when an army of visitors will descend on us for the Bastille Day celebrations the day after. It was so uplifting that the genius was smiling and cracking jokes and being generally happy, which hasn't happened for a while and took me a bit off guard.
So Ed did a good job and it will make a big difference to have him around for a couple of weeks. Sadly, we don't think he is the master at taping and jointing (or drylining, to give it it's professional name) that we hoped we might find, so he may not be the right person to let loose on the unfinished central area of the main appartment. He has also managed to establish in one day a reputation as the absolute messiest builder ever - which is quite an achievement as I've never ever met a tidy builder. There was water everywhere that had previously been dry, there was plaster all over the tools, there was more dropped plaster than on the walls - there was even plaster on the fridge door in the main kitchen, which was quite remarkable. He then committed the cardinal sin of not cleaning up all his tools at the end of the day. I had to have a little word.
I have come to the conclusion that from start to finish, building is not really about the the solid materials used, but more about how many liquid materials you use. At one point today all three of us were scraping some sort of goo onto wall, floor or ceiling as Ed and I continued the skimming and the genius laid floor tiles in the new kitchenette. This whole place is held together with concrete, cement, screed, bonding agents, tile adhesive, grout, glue, mastic, wood filler, oil and paint. Actually, it's pretty impossible not to make a mess, so it's a good job I have a cupboard full of cleaning liquids and lotions to get rid of the residue of the first lot!
Right, I'm off for a shower - more tomorrow I hope.
Day two in the big brother house. What effect will the new arrival have on the delicate balance of human emotions? Will Ed get up on time? Will he have a hangover? How will that affect his work? Will he do enough to impress the moody genius? Has getting pissed on day one blown his chances of lasting the two weeks? Will he be voted out before he's even begun?
Well in fact (you can revert to normal voice now) he was up on time and raring to go and it's been quite a productive day - so well done Ed. Not that everything went to plan, of course, but we achieved a lot which makes us feel a bit more comfortable about hitting the deadline day of 13th July, when an army of visitors will descend on us for the Bastille Day celebrations the day after. It was so uplifting that the genius was smiling and cracking jokes and being generally happy, which hasn't happened for a while and took me a bit off guard.
So Ed did a good job and it will make a big difference to have him around for a couple of weeks. Sadly, we don't think he is the master at taping and jointing (or drylining, to give it it's professional name) that we hoped we might find, so he may not be the right person to let loose on the unfinished central area of the main appartment. He has also managed to establish in one day a reputation as the absolute messiest builder ever - which is quite an achievement as I've never ever met a tidy builder. There was water everywhere that had previously been dry, there was plaster all over the tools, there was more dropped plaster than on the walls - there was even plaster on the fridge door in the main kitchen, which was quite remarkable. He then committed the cardinal sin of not cleaning up all his tools at the end of the day. I had to have a little word.
I have come to the conclusion that from start to finish, building is not really about the the solid materials used, but more about how many liquid materials you use. At one point today all three of us were scraping some sort of goo onto wall, floor or ceiling as Ed and I continued the skimming and the genius laid floor tiles in the new kitchenette. This whole place is held together with concrete, cement, screed, bonding agents, tile adhesive, grout, glue, mastic, wood filler, oil and paint. Actually, it's pretty impossible not to make a mess, so it's a good job I have a cupboard full of cleaning liquids and lotions to get rid of the residue of the first lot!
Right, I'm off for a shower - more tomorrow I hope.
Monday, 18 June 2007
New Beginning
So here I am. Writing on my new blog address. Different name, different intro, but hopefully some of the same sort of insight into my dual life in London and Carcassonne.
Why the new address? Well, it's a bit of a learning curve from the first blog really. Even though no names were named, there were people who were happy to be referred to, by implication or peusodym, in a good light but as soon as any mild or implied criticism appeared, toys were ejected in all directions. So, my new blog will have no names and anyone without a name won't be told that there is a blog that doesn't contain their name so that they can't take offence about something that wasn't written or implied about them - I do hope that's clear.
'The genius', my brilliant but introverted and racist builder is slowly coming back out of the black hole (that's ironic!) of depression into which he had fallen, which was, in part, fuelled by his inability to understand humour and the poetic licence of the written word - that is, he took offence at me calling him selfish for giving up drinking. It was funny - everyone who read it thought it was funny - get a grip man. (n.b. if he finds this and reads this I fear it will be all over between us). C'est la vie.
Today, I have a new recruit to our renovation project. For the sake of this blog I will call him Ed .....because that's his name. He is a Dutchman who we found by putting an ad on gumtree, a travellers job/contact website. He sounded ideal - lives in the Tarn (about 2 hours away), fifteen years building experience, fluent french/english/dutch - well worth a try I thought compared to the Estonian (none of his references answered the phone) or the many Brits with no actual relevant experience (what makes someone answer an ad for 'experienced builder required' when their only experience is an airfix model of a Lancaster bomber!)
So Ed turned up this afternoon after travelling down from the Tarn and I flew out from London after a few days of my big city life. Tomorrow we will see if he is any good at plastering. Today I found out he knows how to get plastered - hmm - not the most auspicious of starts to a trial period. While I cooked supper, he went out to explore the town, which basically seemed to mean he found his way to the Irish bar, met a couple of people and called me to say not to worry about supper for him! So, the jury is out so far - the test will come when he has to impress the moody genius in the morning - we'll see.
Why the new address? Well, it's a bit of a learning curve from the first blog really. Even though no names were named, there were people who were happy to be referred to, by implication or peusodym, in a good light but as soon as any mild or implied criticism appeared, toys were ejected in all directions. So, my new blog will have no names and anyone without a name won't be told that there is a blog that doesn't contain their name so that they can't take offence about something that wasn't written or implied about them - I do hope that's clear.
'The genius', my brilliant but introverted and racist builder is slowly coming back out of the black hole (that's ironic!) of depression into which he had fallen, which was, in part, fuelled by his inability to understand humour and the poetic licence of the written word - that is, he took offence at me calling him selfish for giving up drinking. It was funny - everyone who read it thought it was funny - get a grip man. (n.b. if he finds this and reads this I fear it will be all over between us). C'est la vie.
Today, I have a new recruit to our renovation project. For the sake of this blog I will call him Ed .....because that's his name. He is a Dutchman who we found by putting an ad on gumtree, a travellers job/contact website. He sounded ideal - lives in the Tarn (about 2 hours away), fifteen years building experience, fluent french/english/dutch - well worth a try I thought compared to the Estonian (none of his references answered the phone) or the many Brits with no actual relevant experience (what makes someone answer an ad for 'experienced builder required' when their only experience is an airfix model of a Lancaster bomber!)
So Ed turned up this afternoon after travelling down from the Tarn and I flew out from London after a few days of my big city life. Tomorrow we will see if he is any good at plastering. Today I found out he knows how to get plastered - hmm - not the most auspicious of starts to a trial period. While I cooked supper, he went out to explore the town, which basically seemed to mean he found his way to the Irish bar, met a couple of people and called me to say not to worry about supper for him! So, the jury is out so far - the test will come when he has to impress the moody genius in the morning - we'll see.
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