With apologies to Ms Andrews

Handles and splashbacks and taps with spray hoses
Candles with scent to delight all our noses
Showers and kettles and colour that zings
These are a few of my favourite things

Windows of wood and a front door so stylish
Tiles, carpets, floorboards in textures delicious
Underfloor heating, the staircase's strings
These are a few of my favourite things

When the rain pours
And the snow falls
When they cause delays
I'll simply remember my favourite things
And re-organise
The days

Wardrobes that fit under eaves between trusses
Dormers and roof lights and blinds without fusses
Pricey but gorgeous, the slate worktop sings
These are a few of my favourite things

Friends who help out with a paintbrush or hammer
Tradespeople working sans problem or murmur
Guests coming over, we're celebrating
That surely is my most favourite thing!

Kitchens

Well, this isn't easy to admit, to myself least of all, but I've been scammed. See previous post about frantic online searching and bargains, but the gist is: I signed up - by handing over £100 cash - for a kitchen that wasn't enormously cheaper than Ikea's but cheaper nonetheless (what I'm getting at is, to me it wasn't out of the realm of possibility) and it looks like it wasn't the best possible use of those readies.

Nothing's been proved yet, but at the back of my mind since Tuesday when the lovely salesman/designer left (after two hours, which doesn't seem like a great ROI for his time, but anyway) has been the niggling thought that it's too good to be true. The spiel was right and I agreed to see him only after doing my research on the company, which turned up nothing negative. His design is spot on - and if nothing else I can apply it anywhere - and my philosophy was that if the units cost just a fraction of the cost of those elsewhere (and by 'elsewhere' I mean high street, not bespoke) then we could happily fork out for the fantabulous Welsh slate worktops we covet.

Anyway, Himself's just turned up a string of reviews about the company, which post evidence of them being less than savoury. Nothing suggests per se that we won't get the kitchen, but there are enough negative words written than make me wonder if it will ever turn up, and if it does if it will be worthy of being fitted in my lovely new home. I don't think I can spend the next couple of months worrying about it, particularly when I have a few other (probably more pressing) worries, such as the actual foundations and house.

So it's time to notch that one up to experience, and back to Ikea I go. Ho ho.

Mania

Yes, yes, I'm still here. So sorry I've been silent for so long; I know you've missed me, but I've been so up to my eyeballs (on a good day) with actually DOING the work that's it been difficult to find five minutes to write about it. However, here I am with a couple of lines.

So! Weeks and weeks of being buried under paperwork and inside my Mac have resulted in a highly flammable project manager (moi), three children deprived of attention and a husband whose new favourite meal is pizza (concession: I buy them from Asda and add lots of fab toppings AND serve with a homemade salad, so don't shoot me). I have, in this time, revised part of the plans; approved the underfloor heating design; spent at least 17 gazillion hours online poring over kitchens, bathrooms, tiles and other flooring, fenestration and doors; found trades; had the water connected and arranged for the electricity and gas to be; and more.

I have discovered that not only is there an endless supply of absolutely everything, but also that I am unable to resist a bargain. For the former, the solution will be (when I have exhausted my patience, which surprisingly is yet to come) to draw a line under the work and choose - kitchen, bathroom bits (quelle surprise, I can't find a complete set at any one store), floors, doors, the works. This is going to be the toughest part of the job, I think, as at the back of my mind is a little person trying furiously to convince me that there's a better deal to be had just around the corner/on the next site down the google list. I'm determined to ignore him.

For the second problem, the one about being unable to resist a bargain, see my next post. Hey, gotta keep you keen, innit?

Permission granted

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!!!!!!!!!

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.

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.

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.