Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Building home: The electrician has just left the building...
Building home: The electrician has just left the building...: The electrician has just left. He managed to come on the wrong day, put the lights up incorrectly, not manage to put one light up at all a...
Monday, November 28, 2011
The electrician has just left the building...
The electrician has just left.
He managed to come on the wrong day, put the lights up incorrectly, not manage to put one light up at all and disconnect the internet while ON the phone to the Swisscom helpline trying to sort out my internet connections issues. He then announced he had to go as it was late and left me sitting on the floor of my entrance hall - connected to the outside world by nothing but a weakly pulsing disfunctioning yellow internet cable.
Last week his boss (the chief electrician) came over and proceeded to tell me that he was in hospital the day before as his heart is about to explode due to all the stress - and that he could literally have a heart attack or stroke at any given moment.
It didn't seem like the best time to challenge him on the estimate he had sent me which had inflated 3 times the quoted amount between our telephone call and the written estimate I he had sent me by email. Despite my anticipated new years resolution for being more gracious, I defaulted to the route of lesser tact and said that actually his price quote had very nearly had the same effect on me and could he give me the name of his specialist.
He kept smiling which I put down to the great drugs his Dr. must have put him on - but as soon as I had said it I made a mental note to enter the 'Be Gracious 2012!!!' memo into my phone, once and for all...
He managed to come on the wrong day, put the lights up incorrectly, not manage to put one light up at all and disconnect the internet while ON the phone to the Swisscom helpline trying to sort out my internet connections issues. He then announced he had to go as it was late and left me sitting on the floor of my entrance hall - connected to the outside world by nothing but a weakly pulsing disfunctioning yellow internet cable.
Last week his boss (the chief electrician) came over and proceeded to tell me that he was in hospital the day before as his heart is about to explode due to all the stress - and that he could literally have a heart attack or stroke at any given moment.
It didn't seem like the best time to challenge him on the estimate he had sent me which had inflated 3 times the quoted amount between our telephone call and the written estimate I he had sent me by email. Despite my anticipated new years resolution for being more gracious, I defaulted to the route of lesser tact and said that actually his price quote had very nearly had the same effect on me and could he give me the name of his specialist.
He kept smiling which I put down to the great drugs his Dr. must have put him on - but as soon as I had said it I made a mental note to enter the 'Be Gracious 2012!!!' memo into my phone, once and for all...
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Building home: The roof, the roof, the roof is on fire
Building home: The roof, the roof, the roof is on fire: I'm currently sitting at my dining room table (which is conveniently placed in the center of the house - like ground control to monitor work...
The roof, the roof, the roof is on fire
I'm currently sitting at my dining room table (which is conveniently placed in the center of the house - like ground control to monitor workmen) watching the painter as he walks around with a single paintbrush loaded with paint occasionally dabbing at the walls, then striding across the newly laid carpet to another spot.
Having just received an estimate of over 1000.- to protect the slate floors it's all I can do from launching myself across the room and smacking him over the head with my computer. But I love my computer too much.
So I have decided against doing that. I woke up deciding that my new years resolution would be to acquire some Grace. Lucy2012 will not only come with an infant strapped to her hip but will also 'Graciously' discuss flaws and errors with suppliers instead of barking at them. Maybe it will get me further?! It's my new years resolution but I think I may need to start this one a good few months before the new year begins to give it a chance in h*ll of sticking.
If all else fails I can always close my eyes, zen out and pretend I am in the Bahamas. I can do this quite easily as our house is of about the same temperature. This is due to the PAC (Pompe a Chaleur) (which for those not in the know) - is where they drill 150m down into the earth's bedrock and install 2 metal pipes which draw the heat from said bedrock up to heat the house through the central heating system.
However... we either live above a fault line and are accessing a bubbling magma chamber... or there is a problem with the setting. I've had it seen to once already but somehow nothing has changed and I find it impossible to even wear socks in the house without my feet steaming. I thought it might just be me and the extra insulation that comes from being pregnant but then we got the cat's in and it started to become clear that the floor was too hot even for them to lie on. I keep finding them in random places - lying on a coffee table, under the dishwashed, in the shower. I guess it's the wise choice between getting wet or having singed paws...
So my next task from 'Ground Control' is to call the heating men and ask if they could change the setting from the 'Bahamas' to 'Mallorca in Early Spring' and see how that goes. If it still fails at least we know that though the installation cost was weighty at least all our heating is free - and we never need to travel to hot and exotic places because we are permanently living in one!
Having just received an estimate of over 1000.- to protect the slate floors it's all I can do from launching myself across the room and smacking him over the head with my computer. But I love my computer too much.
So I have decided against doing that. I woke up deciding that my new years resolution would be to acquire some Grace. Lucy2012 will not only come with an infant strapped to her hip but will also 'Graciously' discuss flaws and errors with suppliers instead of barking at them. Maybe it will get me further?! It's my new years resolution but I think I may need to start this one a good few months before the new year begins to give it a chance in h*ll of sticking.
If all else fails I can always close my eyes, zen out and pretend I am in the Bahamas. I can do this quite easily as our house is of about the same temperature. This is due to the PAC (Pompe a Chaleur) (which for those not in the know) - is where they drill 150m down into the earth's bedrock and install 2 metal pipes which draw the heat from said bedrock up to heat the house through the central heating system.
However... we either live above a fault line and are accessing a bubbling magma chamber... or there is a problem with the setting. I've had it seen to once already but somehow nothing has changed and I find it impossible to even wear socks in the house without my feet steaming. I thought it might just be me and the extra insulation that comes from being pregnant but then we got the cat's in and it started to become clear that the floor was too hot even for them to lie on. I keep finding them in random places - lying on a coffee table, under the dishwashed, in the shower. I guess it's the wise choice between getting wet or having singed paws...
So my next task from 'Ground Control' is to call the heating men and ask if they could change the setting from the 'Bahamas' to 'Mallorca in Early Spring' and see how that goes. If it still fails at least we know that though the installation cost was weighty at least all our heating is free - and we never need to travel to hot and exotic places because we are permanently living in one!
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Building home: Post-it's for sanity.
Building home: Post-it's for sanity.: So after doing the rounds a 5th time with the painter - showing him what was not ok - (and you'd be surprised what is ok by his standards).....
Post-it's for sanity.
So after doing the rounds a 5th time with the painter - showing him what was not ok - (and you'd be surprised what is ok by his standards)... I lost the plot. It seems like they want you to stand next to them as you point out evident issues and then stand next to them as they paint over the errors which are as clear as an orange Easyjet plane flying in the blue sky overhead (but decidedly easier because they're these paint errors arn't in transit, they simply glare back at us, unmoving from the wall).
To put an end to this I decided to liberate the frustrated art director in me with the help of bright yellow post-it notes. Resulting in the house looking like a large 3D print proof with comments and annotations scrawled all over it.
Most satisfying.
Even more satisfying to see how defeated the painter looked when he next came over! However it did lead to interesting situations such as these:
Painter: 'Why have you put a post-it up there?'
Me: 'Because the wallpaper is ripped...'
Painter: 'That was ripped by the window installer...'
I then pointed out the nearest window was 4 meters away and that the rip had been stuck down with wallpaper glue in an attempt to cover the damage... to which he replied
'Well I guess he had to rip it it's the only way to put this wallpaper up...'
Me: bang bang bang (sound of my head against the wallpapered wall...)
On the other end of the scale there is (thank goodness) the Landscape gardener. He poses his own challenges at the very other side of the spectrum. He loves to talk and draw out and ponder and suggest and confirm and reconfirm everything over and over again. At school he would have been the bespectacled boy at the back of the room with his hand permanently in the air, back arched in earnest enthusiasm 'oh I know, I know, I know, oh please ask me miss, pleeeeease aaaaaask meeeeeeee!' But what a nice change to have someone who is interested, passionate and who doesn't feign blindness when it comes to obvious issues and who wants nothing more then to stand out in the cold with you going over the finer points of garden paving for an hour at the crack of dawn.
To put an end to this I decided to liberate the frustrated art director in me with the help of bright yellow post-it notes. Resulting in the house looking like a large 3D print proof with comments and annotations scrawled all over it.
Most satisfying.
Even more satisfying to see how defeated the painter looked when he next came over! However it did lead to interesting situations such as these:
Painter: 'Why have you put a post-it up there?'
Me: 'Because the wallpaper is ripped...'
Painter: 'That was ripped by the window installer...'
I then pointed out the nearest window was 4 meters away and that the rip had been stuck down with wallpaper glue in an attempt to cover the damage... to which he replied
'Well I guess he had to rip it it's the only way to put this wallpaper up...'
Me: bang bang bang (sound of my head against the wallpapered wall...)
On the other end of the scale there is (thank goodness) the Landscape gardener. He poses his own challenges at the very other side of the spectrum. He loves to talk and draw out and ponder and suggest and confirm and reconfirm everything over and over again. At school he would have been the bespectacled boy at the back of the room with his hand permanently in the air, back arched in earnest enthusiasm 'oh I know, I know, I know, oh please ask me miss, pleeeeease aaaaaask meeeeeeee!' But what a nice change to have someone who is interested, passionate and who doesn't feign blindness when it comes to obvious issues and who wants nothing more then to stand out in the cold with you going over the finer points of garden paving for an hour at the crack of dawn.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Unpacking issues
So many boxes! So much stuff! How is it possible for 2 people to have this many possessions!? How is it possible that we have every generation of Nokia mobile phone from the day mobile phones were launched but can’t seem to find any of stu’s underpants?
After 48hours with invaluable help from family the house looked like home. As we sat down for an impromptu brunch (a table top rsting on 4 chairs) we commented on how it felt like we had always been there.
Monday dawned and our thoughts turned to how to get stu to work now that we were country bumpkins.
At 8h30 we drove to the train station (stu wearing his swimming trunks as the underpants box was still impossible to find) and I waved him off to join all the other commuters travelling to Geneva and I returned to the house to do my job - hunt for Stu's undergarments. Hoorah!
After 48hours with invaluable help from family the house looked like home. As we sat down for an impromptu brunch (a table top rsting on 4 chairs) we commented on how it felt like we had always been there.
Monday dawned and our thoughts turned to how to get stu to work now that we were country bumpkins.
At 8h30 we drove to the train station (stu wearing his swimming trunks as the underpants box was still impossible to find) and I waved him off to join all the other commuters travelling to Geneva and I returned to the house to do my job - hunt for Stu's undergarments. Hoorah!
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Etat des lieu round 2!
So we pulled up an hour before the etat des lieu exactly one week later. The house was still full of work men pointing fingers at each other but it looked better then the week before - probably thanks to the 47 page document of ‘things to do’ I had drawn up after last weeks disasterous meeting.
After 4 hours of going over every detail with the architect (and I realised I could really get sucked into every detail - to the point where I wonder if I will ever exit macro lense vision mode again) we signed off on the house!
The architect made us sign the 7 pages of things to finalise (better then signing 47 from the week before) and symbolically took out a box with a new lock and key. He then changed it right before our eyes and handed us the keys to our new home!
It was the end of 2 years of working together and there had been times I had gotten so angry with his lack of management that I felt I was a different person. It taught me a lot on how being nice makes you friends but it doesn’t get a good paint job done. We shook hands and he ducked out into the night leaving stu and I looking at each other and our empty grown up home.
A few minutes later the doorbell rang and the project manager re-appeared outside with a bottle of champagne. I initially ducked thinking it could be a Molotov Cocktail but then when he handed it to me instead of lobbing it over my head I realised it was his way of making amends to a relationship which had been otherwise quite strained
We exchanged a few niceties, I even told him I would build again which made his eyes roll into the back of his head in panic before offering an excuse about having left the iron on at home and just having to get back.
The door shut and stu and I jumped around like little kids in a sweet shop. Grown up on the outside, infantile on the inside.
After 4 hours of going over every detail with the architect (and I realised I could really get sucked into every detail - to the point where I wonder if I will ever exit macro lense vision mode again) we signed off on the house!
The architect made us sign the 7 pages of things to finalise (better then signing 47 from the week before) and symbolically took out a box with a new lock and key. He then changed it right before our eyes and handed us the keys to our new home!
It was the end of 2 years of working together and there had been times I had gotten so angry with his lack of management that I felt I was a different person. It taught me a lot on how being nice makes you friends but it doesn’t get a good paint job done. We shook hands and he ducked out into the night leaving stu and I looking at each other and our empty grown up home.
A few minutes later the doorbell rang and the project manager re-appeared outside with a bottle of champagne. I initially ducked thinking it could be a Molotov Cocktail but then when he handed it to me instead of lobbing it over my head I realised it was his way of making amends to a relationship which had been otherwise quite strained
We exchanged a few niceties, I even told him I would build again which made his eyes roll into the back of his head in panic before offering an excuse about having left the iron on at home and just having to get back.
The door shut and stu and I jumped around like little kids in a sweet shop. Grown up on the outside, infantile on the inside.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Bare essentials...
So after leaving our flat with must gusto and not so much as a backward glance on the friday eve pre état-des-lieu a few hours later, we found ourselves back in the empty flat feeling like 2 small ships whose wind had been brutally taken from the sails. We had salvaged the bear essentials in a last minute frenzy before the movers came in (like a swarm of ants to transport everything) and kept back the bare essentials: A bed, tv, beanbag, armchair and 12 crystal champagne glasses.
The latter, not as a lifestyle standard essential, but as the only thing of value we own (other then our cats) that we didn’t want to risk the movers breaking during the move.
They really came into their own and proving most handy for watering the pot plants on the balcony and for drinking milky cornflakes out of in the morning!
The latter, not as a lifestyle standard essential, but as the only thing of value we own (other then our cats) that we didn’t want to risk the movers breaking during the move.
They really came into their own and proving most handy for watering the pot plants on the balcony and for drinking milky cornflakes out of in the morning!
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Moving day!
Hi this is Lucy Axam reporting from the basement of her house, more precisely, behind the safety of about 30 cubic meters of boxes and furniture which have been stored here as an emergecy measure.
Why so glam you ask? Well a lot more has happened in the last 48 hours other than the Eurozone going into meltdown...!
Having returned to the building site on Thursday evening to make a second round of coffee and biscuits for the workers I found that one of the builders had clearly grown very fond of me and so absolutely HAD to take a talisman as a memory of me off the building site with him when he left that evening... and decided the only thing he could tangibly get hold of other than a lock of my hair was in fact this brand new brushed metal Kenwood Kettle. And so bless his low cut trousers he took it with him when he left. How could I hold that against anyone!?
Deluded moi? I kick myself over and over when I think back to the internal dispute I had with myself in the kettle aisle of the supermarket - ‘do I get a cheap plastic one in case they steal it, or do I get a nice one I will keep for ever and trust in the goodness of human nature that no one will...’ ‘I know - I’ll do the latter because I believe in Fairies and Neverland and... POP there goes my bubble!
So that horrible feeling settled in - the one when you can’t look your workers in the eye cos one of them is smugly thinking back to the cup of tea they made this morning from your kettle - or thinking about the 80.- they made from selling it on Tutti - that they spent betting on the dogs. I hope they lost - and that the dog they bet on broke free and it now living the life of Larry on a farm.
Friday the sun rose - a new dawn a new day and i was headed for a life in Suburbia! dressed up and ready to do the etat des lieux and collect the keys to our house at 4pm. However when we got to ‘our new home’ it seemed like perhaps our house was actually being used in the making of a film all about building a house... and it was only a quarter of ther way through..
There were pots of paint everywhere, muddy floors, electricians looking like they had been frazzled a couple of times over, sprinting around in chaos.
When the dust settled our project manager materialised - looking rather like father christmas sporting a mullet and a beatified expression as if he had just had a glass of sherry and was about to be offered a piece of pie. He extended his palm and asked for the remaining money we owed for the building of our house. We asked him if he was joking. He said he wasn’t. We said we couldn’t move in in a house that looked like this, ‘he said it was all relative but we didn’t have to if we didn’t feel ready to.’
So to cut a long story short, and to spare you details of quite how easy it is to access one’s long repressed inner child when it comes to throwing a tantrum through hiccups and tears we didn’t pay and we didn’t get the keys to the house.
We did have a pronblem though. Because our removal men were doing the furniture delivery at 8am the next morning...
Casting my mind back to my kettle I then multiplied the issue of having all my wordly goods in my house with all the workers - one of which had a penchant for OPP (other people’s property)...
Saturday morning came around and all our furniture was driven to the house and directed down to the basement. A 4m x 5m room.
Monday filming... (I mean finishing) resumed on set... (I mean at the house) and I took myself down to the basement as the electrician needed to access i to steal stuff (I mean to fix some wiring). Trying not to act too distrusting I set myself up on a stool and a bedside table in the midst of a citsscape of boxes... trying not to scare too many builders with ‘who goes there fee fi fo fum’ attitude as I popped out from behind a case of wine to startle them and remind them that ‘they were not alone’.
Why so glam you ask? Well a lot more has happened in the last 48 hours other than the Eurozone going into meltdown...!
Having returned to the building site on Thursday evening to make a second round of coffee and biscuits for the workers I found that one of the builders had clearly grown very fond of me and so absolutely HAD to take a talisman as a memory of me off the building site with him when he left that evening... and decided the only thing he could tangibly get hold of other than a lock of my hair was in fact this brand new brushed metal Kenwood Kettle. And so bless his low cut trousers he took it with him when he left. How could I hold that against anyone!?
Deluded moi? I kick myself over and over when I think back to the internal dispute I had with myself in the kettle aisle of the supermarket - ‘do I get a cheap plastic one in case they steal it, or do I get a nice one I will keep for ever and trust in the goodness of human nature that no one will...’ ‘I know - I’ll do the latter because I believe in Fairies and Neverland and... POP there goes my bubble!
So that horrible feeling settled in - the one when you can’t look your workers in the eye cos one of them is smugly thinking back to the cup of tea they made this morning from your kettle - or thinking about the 80.- they made from selling it on Tutti - that they spent betting on the dogs. I hope they lost - and that the dog they bet on broke free and it now living the life of Larry on a farm.
Friday the sun rose - a new dawn a new day and i was headed for a life in Suburbia! dressed up and ready to do the etat des lieux and collect the keys to our house at 4pm. However when we got to ‘our new home’ it seemed like perhaps our house was actually being used in the making of a film all about building a house... and it was only a quarter of ther way through..
There were pots of paint everywhere, muddy floors, electricians looking like they had been frazzled a couple of times over, sprinting around in chaos.
When the dust settled our project manager materialised - looking rather like father christmas sporting a mullet and a beatified expression as if he had just had a glass of sherry and was about to be offered a piece of pie. He extended his palm and asked for the remaining money we owed for the building of our house. We asked him if he was joking. He said he wasn’t. We said we couldn’t move in in a house that looked like this, ‘he said it was all relative but we didn’t have to if we didn’t feel ready to.’
So to cut a long story short, and to spare you details of quite how easy it is to access one’s long repressed inner child when it comes to throwing a tantrum through hiccups and tears we didn’t pay and we didn’t get the keys to the house.
We did have a pronblem though. Because our removal men were doing the furniture delivery at 8am the next morning...
Casting my mind back to my kettle I then multiplied the issue of having all my wordly goods in my house with all the workers - one of which had a penchant for OPP (other people’s property)...
Saturday morning came around and all our furniture was driven to the house and directed down to the basement. A 4m x 5m room.
Monday filming... (I mean finishing) resumed on set... (I mean at the house) and I took myself down to the basement as the electrician needed to access i to steal stuff (I mean to fix some wiring). Trying not to act too distrusting I set myself up on a stool and a bedside table in the midst of a citsscape of boxes... trying not to scare too many builders with ‘who goes there fee fi fo fum’ attitude as I popped out from behind a case of wine to startle them and remind them that ‘they were not alone’.
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