September 13th, 2002

It's definitely Friday 13th.

The kitchen ceiling collapsed this morning.

OK, I should clarify that a little. We are in the process of moving house. This is not a recommended way of spending time and money unless there's a really good reason for it, like your landlord wants to move back into his flat, or you've suddenly decided that, despite a life spent in and around London, the wilds of the country seem more enticing, or someone suddenly offers to sell you a house at a substantial discount and your own house is bursting at the seams because, Gentle Reader, as you may be able to guess from my LJ nickname, I have a book habit. To the tune of several thousand of the things. My favourite author has said that I probably have more of his books than he does. But I digress.

We are having some work done on the discounted house - it wasn't actually discounted because it was falling to pieces, it was discounted because we bought it from my parents, the ones who suddenly decided that the wilds of Somerset were preferable to the outskirts of London. I can't see the attraction myself, but maybe when retirement age I reach, country houses I will prefer.

The phone call came a bit before lunch, my beloved asking how busy I was today. I can never see this as a good sign, and rather warily asked "Why?" He explained that the builder had been taking up floorboards in the bathroom and that this had caused the kitchen ceiling to collapse. Luckily I work a relatively short drive from Discounted House, and soon thereafter I was staring up through the hole in the ceiling and agreeing with the builder that yes, there was indeed a hole there, no, I didn't think it was his fault, yes, it did seem rather silly for people to have left half-bricks under the floorboards when they remodelled the bathroom previously... and to think we'd never have noticed this if, when they remodelled it, they hadn't decorated it so foully that we took one look and said "this has GOT to go."

Depending on available time, the builder will either patch the hole, which will look a bit grim - but it's over some cabinets and we were planning to redo the kitchen sometime soon anyhow - or redo the ceiling completely, which would have to be done at some point anyhow.

I am irresistibly reminded of The Money Pit. When we first bought a house, we bought somewhere which was nearly new and thus required very little work done to it, because neither I nor the beloved are at all interested in DIY. This place, while larger and (generally) nicer, is older and needs more stuff done - not, I hope, all major stuff like this, but decorating and painting and the like. Well, I'm sure it'll keep us busy for the next millennium or so...

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Can't decide who, if anyone, I should be telling about this. I don't know how many - if any - realspace friends of mine have livejournals (there's at least one who has a DeadJournal), so it may just be the online ones who ever get told.

But hey, the chances of many of you wanting to listen to me complain about builders, removal firms, cleaners, packing, boxes, and the like are probably fairly minimal.

The boxes, the terrible boxes

Right ... time for another weekend of fun and laughter. Well, maybe not so much fun and laughter; more like wrestling stuff into boxes and boggling, once again, at how much crap we possess.

There is one bright spot on the horizon, in that we are going to a cocktail party at a friend's house tomorrow evening. It should be good fun; I hope we'll be able to figure out a sensible public-transport way to get there, though, otherwise one of us will be drinking very uninteresting cocktails. So it goes.

Let's also hope that no more bits of house decide they wish to rearrange themselves overnight. At least we now have cleaners booked to come and blitz the place the day before we move...
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