We've just being granted permission! Am I allowed to be excited? NOW I am!
Oh my goodness, it's hard to put into words (I know - you don't hear that often from me, do you?) the joy, relief and enthusiasm I feel, after so many months and so much anxiety and so many negative thoughts that have had to be forcibly banished. To say I'm thrilled would be like saying South Africa won the rugby this morning. To say I'm a little nervous would be like claiming that England's a little wet this autumn.
Sorry, clearly my emotions are wrecking my ability to hold down an intelligent diatribe.
Suffice, for the time being, to say that the work really starts now. The fence is up (tick), the water connection's planned for next week (large tick) and this weekend's going to be filled with ordering plants and getting my suppliers lined up, in theory anyway.
Yay! Or maybe, just this once, I'll allow myself a little stylistic licence and say: YAAAYY!!!!!!!!!
Saturday, 17 September 2011
Tuesday, 13 September 2011
Oh frabjous days
Have you ever enjoyed days which are just 'made' for you? I've had a few - and like to think that if they happened more frequently they would, like proper chocolate and West End musicals, cease to be treats - and the latest was just last week. The day started ordinarily enough. I had to pop up to town to run a few errands, and while I was there I took advantage of rare kid-free time to find the belt for which I'd been looking for ages. First stop was Top Shop, not my usual hangout but it does do fab accessories. After scouring unsuccessfully their entire belt range I was about to give up when I spotted exactly what I'd been searching for on the sale rack. No tag attached, so I took it to the cash desk and asked the assistant there for the price. She went off to ask her manager, who returned to tell me - with a very broad smile - that it was old stock and I could have it for nothing.
Whaaaaat? When does THAT ever happen? I couldn't believe it - not that it's worth more than a couple of quid but that someone had been so, well, NICE! After beaming all the way home, I burst through the door intending to tell my visiting Mum about my little experience, but before I did I tore open an envelope that had just arrived through the letterbox, to find a beautiful handmade card (see below). Inside it reads: "Welcome to Shenley. Hope everything goes well with your building and you enjoy living here." and is signed by the family members from a few doors down, whom we met a few weeks ago when they nipped over to say a cheery hello.
Do I feel welcome? NOW I do! Was my day made? You bet it was.
Whaaaaat? When does THAT ever happen? I couldn't believe it - not that it's worth more than a couple of quid but that someone had been so, well, NICE! After beaming all the way home, I burst through the door intending to tell my visiting Mum about my little experience, but before I did I tore open an envelope that had just arrived through the letterbox, to find a beautiful handmade card (see below). Inside it reads: "Welcome to Shenley. Hope everything goes well with your building and you enjoy living here." and is signed by the family members from a few doors down, whom we met a few weeks ago when they nipped over to say a cheery hello.
Do I feel welcome? NOW I do! Was my day made? You bet it was.
Wednesday, 31 August 2011
Objection!
Yes, we've had one! The next-next-door-neighbour has objected to our "development" (can one call the tiniest ever house that?) because we've removed a habitat for wildlife and cats. Now, tree hugger than I am, I strongly object to their objection. Wouldn't you?
Forgive me if I offend anyone, but is human need not more important than that of animals'? Is it, in plain English, not more important that I provide a place to rest the heads of my loved ones than retain a very small piece of wildlife sanctuary. I'd argue no if this sanctuary were mid-urbanity and it was the only place for our feathered and furry friends to live and play. But this is Milton Keynes, where 26 parks and woodlands provide space for the city's 22 million trees, swathes of hedgerow and sprawling shrubbery. Zero point zero zero three (yes, it really is that small) hectares of bramble being removed is not going to flummox the local creatures.
Well, perhaps two: the objectors. Nimbyism at its worst. I mean, seriously, did they consider before they bought their house the cats, birds and hedgehogs that might have lived on that plot prior to the bulldozers moving in? Probably not, otherwise they'd be living in a 'van on the site rather than in their watertight, heated little enclave.
Which is exactly the sort of choice I've made for my family. So nyaahhhhhhh.
Forgive me if I offend anyone, but is human need not more important than that of animals'? Is it, in plain English, not more important that I provide a place to rest the heads of my loved ones than retain a very small piece of wildlife sanctuary. I'd argue no if this sanctuary were mid-urbanity and it was the only place for our feathered and furry friends to live and play. But this is Milton Keynes, where 26 parks and woodlands provide space for the city's 22 million trees, swathes of hedgerow and sprawling shrubbery. Zero point zero zero three (yes, it really is that small) hectares of bramble being removed is not going to flummox the local creatures.
Well, perhaps two: the objectors. Nimbyism at its worst. I mean, seriously, did they consider before they bought their house the cats, birds and hedgehogs that might have lived on that plot prior to the bulldozers moving in? Probably not, otherwise they'd be living in a 'van on the site rather than in their watertight, heated little enclave.
Which is exactly the sort of choice I've made for my family. So nyaahhhhhhh.
Sunday, 28 August 2011
The tenacity of life
I spent yesterday clearing the bank of my plot of eons of roots. A couple of weeks ago, you'll remember (well, so I like to think, my obsession slowly becoming the focus of your life) that I spent HOURS (and hours and hours) yanking up the remaining life after the pros had removed the big stuff. Runners sprouting ivy and brambles, roots of the hawthorn and privet. It all came up.
Or so I thought. For yesterday - a mere 12 days, all be they rainy ones - later, I was there again, pulling up new growth. Granted, my initial attempt had been rather frenzied and I, obviously, didn't manage to remove the roots. Still. Who woulda thunk it? Pristine, fresh-faced little shoots popping up from below the surface, grinning maniacally at me. I have to admit, I was torn. The half that won (on the grounds of practicability) was the bit that knew that they had to go, to make way for the new planting. The half that was subverted was that which wondered at the tenacity of life. Isn't it incredible that, a JCB and my vicious hands wielding - variously - a fork, trowel and shears (and more than a little enthusiasm) were not enough to quell the spontaneous combustion of life? And even after yesterday marathon effort, for which my back and wrists will no doubt suffer for weeks to come, I can assure you that the next time I visit I'll see new shoots peeking through.
Isn't life astounding? It really does pain me to kill the blighters, but the reasonable nemesis of my tree-hugging self, thankfully, prevails in this case. Nevertheless, I'm awed by their ability to thrive in the most extreme conditions. And isn't this true of human life too? Think most of Africa - how on earth do women with a body fat percentage of 2 manage to reproduce, when the Western world struggles to fall pregnant at optimum health levels? How does someone with, apparently and medically, no hope manage to claw themselves back from death's door? Or step away from it suddenly, at the last minute, when all seemed lost and it seemed the only option? Is our life force, and that of our fellow living beings, so strong?
And if so, why are we not following the call of this strength and living life to its absolute max? In my case, that means shunning the reasonable and reaching for another glass of Merlot, booking another holiday we can't afford, spending Sunday afternoon playing Monopoly with the midgets. C'est la vie. Thank God.
Or so I thought. For yesterday - a mere 12 days, all be they rainy ones - later, I was there again, pulling up new growth. Granted, my initial attempt had been rather frenzied and I, obviously, didn't manage to remove the roots. Still. Who woulda thunk it? Pristine, fresh-faced little shoots popping up from below the surface, grinning maniacally at me. I have to admit, I was torn. The half that won (on the grounds of practicability) was the bit that knew that they had to go, to make way for the new planting. The half that was subverted was that which wondered at the tenacity of life. Isn't it incredible that, a JCB and my vicious hands wielding - variously - a fork, trowel and shears (and more than a little enthusiasm) were not enough to quell the spontaneous combustion of life? And even after yesterday marathon effort, for which my back and wrists will no doubt suffer for weeks to come, I can assure you that the next time I visit I'll see new shoots peeking through.
Isn't life astounding? It really does pain me to kill the blighters, but the reasonable nemesis of my tree-hugging self, thankfully, prevails in this case. Nevertheless, I'm awed by their ability to thrive in the most extreme conditions. And isn't this true of human life too? Think most of Africa - how on earth do women with a body fat percentage of 2 manage to reproduce, when the Western world struggles to fall pregnant at optimum health levels? How does someone with, apparently and medically, no hope manage to claw themselves back from death's door? Or step away from it suddenly, at the last minute, when all seemed lost and it seemed the only option? Is our life force, and that of our fellow living beings, so strong?
And if so, why are we not following the call of this strength and living life to its absolute max? In my case, that means shunning the reasonable and reaching for another glass of Merlot, booking another holiday we can't afford, spending Sunday afternoon playing Monopoly with the midgets. C'est la vie. Thank God.
Friday, 26 August 2011
On the jabberwocky
Am I allowed to diverge from my main topic? Please? Since all I'm doing now is waiting for Himself to afford me some time time to choose hedge shrubs and the Council to grant me the go-ahead so I can start building. Champing at the bit has nothing on my eagerness ... Anyway. Just wanted to ask: why do some people feel it necessary to fill every little silence with jabberwocky (aka chatter, holus bolus or flimflam)? I'm all for an extended conversation, especially when there is much sentence interruptus by excitable partakers. I am, probably, the person to be voted most likely to engage in animated chatter of an evening at the pub, Merlot to hand and witty banter (erm, well, that's what I think two glasses in, anyway) streaming about the table.
But am I alone in thinking that there are moments for silence, moments that really do not need to to filled unless it's by something interesting, profound, funny or uplifting? I'm talking about people who feel the need to say something - anything, in fact. "Oh" is my personal nemesis: it brings me out in a cold sweat. What, exactly, does "oh" add to the conversation or my own enlightenment? As far as I can see, if you have nothing interesting to add, don't say anything. Don't be afraid of not commenting - surely it's not expected? For example, I say "It's raining." Do you really have to say "Yes, it is" or (worse) launch into a diatribe on the local climate? If I'm washing a pot, do you need to say "Oh, you're washing the pot"? Why say anything at all (unless it's "I'll do that for you")?
What do you say to that?
But am I alone in thinking that there are moments for silence, moments that really do not need to to filled unless it's by something interesting, profound, funny or uplifting? I'm talking about people who feel the need to say something - anything, in fact. "Oh" is my personal nemesis: it brings me out in a cold sweat. What, exactly, does "oh" add to the conversation or my own enlightenment? As far as I can see, if you have nothing interesting to add, don't say anything. Don't be afraid of not commenting - surely it's not expected? For example, I say "It's raining." Do you really have to say "Yes, it is" or (worse) launch into a diatribe on the local climate? If I'm washing a pot, do you need to say "Oh, you're washing the pot"? Why say anything at all (unless it's "I'll do that for you")?
What do you say to that?
Sunday, 21 August 2011
Working outdoors
I forgot to mention when I wrote about erecting the fence the other day - how fab is it to work outdoors? Answer: very. Granted, I might not be saying this come December when I'm clearing away broken bricks from the outside of my little house and nailing plasterboard to the inner frame before the heating's been installed. But for someone like me whose idea of a good day includes some kind of cardiovascular exercise, spending two days moving my body and discovering new muscles was a real treat.
In them ol' days, as my nan used to say, people were naturally fit and strong from good, honest physical work - usually housework and laundry for the lasses, leaving the men to tackle the building, gardening and so on. Now, of course, we have an abundance of cash so we can pay other people to do those things AND still afford exorbitant gym memberships in order to keep heart-healthy. Since I'm plumbing every last penny into this new build, perhaps it's a good thing, then, that I enjoy the labour!
Speaking of which - I need to go and finish the job of eradicating the brambles. Taraa!
In them ol' days, as my nan used to say, people were naturally fit and strong from good, honest physical work - usually housework and laundry for the lasses, leaving the men to tackle the building, gardening and so on. Now, of course, we have an abundance of cash so we can pay other people to do those things AND still afford exorbitant gym memberships in order to keep heart-healthy. Since I'm plumbing every last penny into this new build, perhaps it's a good thing, then, that I enjoy the labour!
Speaking of which - I need to go and finish the job of eradicating the brambles. Taraa!
Thursday, 18 August 2011
Fencing: the art and science
What did you do today? A bit of light shopping, perhaps? Cappuccino with cupcakes and girlie chat? Or maybe you put in the hard graft: a full day's work or child minding. Do you want to know what I did? I (ahem) put up a fence. Well, okay, I helped someone to put up a fence. Still. It was the first project for our new build and all I can do is hope that we've started not at all how we mean to go on.
Let me explain. I'm sure that erecting a fence in the middle of a farm field would take a morning. Dig a hole, stick in a fence post, fill the hole up with concrete and then screw a fence panel on to the post. Repeat till the fence is complete. We, however, were not in the middle of a farm field - this fence had to be erected along the same line a long-dead fence had once stood AND where a line of trees had been last week.
Yes, I know, ridiculous! Anyway, hours (literally, and mostly in the rain) of chiselling away great big globs of cement (three), axing into oblivion roots and stumps (seven) and using every muscle in our bodies (too many to mention); abandoning the earth auger which I'd hired to simplify the job because it simply didn't work in the clay soil; hand digging 45cm deep holes then doing the post-concrete-fence panel process described above - and we have a fence. Yay!
Except that, although it's precisely plumb in every direction, it doesn't follow a perfectly straight horizontal line because of having to avoid obstacles, and the client (aka Himself) is unhappy.
So back we go this weekend to make slight adjustments. Just the job for a body which feels as though it's been put through a mangler. At least it's sunny.
Let me explain. I'm sure that erecting a fence in the middle of a farm field would take a morning. Dig a hole, stick in a fence post, fill the hole up with concrete and then screw a fence panel on to the post. Repeat till the fence is complete. We, however, were not in the middle of a farm field - this fence had to be erected along the same line a long-dead fence had once stood AND where a line of trees had been last week.
Yes, I know, ridiculous! Anyway, hours (literally, and mostly in the rain) of chiselling away great big globs of cement (three), axing into oblivion roots and stumps (seven) and using every muscle in our bodies (too many to mention); abandoning the earth auger which I'd hired to simplify the job because it simply didn't work in the clay soil; hand digging 45cm deep holes then doing the post-concrete-fence panel process described above - and we have a fence. Yay!
Except that, although it's precisely plumb in every direction, it doesn't follow a perfectly straight horizontal line because of having to avoid obstacles, and the client (aka Himself) is unhappy.
So back we go this weekend to make slight adjustments. Just the job for a body which feels as though it's been put through a mangler. At least it's sunny.
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