Ummmmmm.... As usual, I haven't been doing much.
The garden is a wreck, mainly due to the weather. But then this weekend (Easter) the weather hasn't been too bad and the garden is still a wreck. An attack of laziness, I'm afraid. I did tidy up out the back a bit, as it's almost nice enough out to breakfast outdoors, hurrah. And I potted up some lilies given to me by a friend I did some IT work for. The garlic has been trompled on a bit by a certain dog but is coming up nicely despite that.
The house is also a wreck, though not as much a wreck as next door - Frances has discovered an unexplained seepage above her front door, causing the wall to crumble away. Someone has checked out the plumbing and it seems ok, so now she's looking at the weeds growing out of the guttering and thinking maybe it's that. Mysterious that she's got no damp upstairs though. Touch wood, my place is at least structurally sound. Last year's leak from the header tank in the loft cracked the plaster skim on the wall in the hallway as it dried, but I can live with that. (And no, Frances' mystery damp isn't related to my leak - it's in a different spot altogether.)
Faye came to visit for a couple of days last week - she drove up overnight, having finished work at about 6pm on the Sunday, but got lost on the way up and ended up driving south again for an hour before realising her mistake. So she wisely stopped off at a hotel and continued in the morning. She's still looking for a job up here, no luck so far.
I've been on some lovely walks, got hailed on (Bertie is most baffled by hail - hey, who's throwing stones at us? stop it, it hurts!) and rained on, and on one glorious day slipped in fresh mud (while wiping away tears after being whipped in the face by a branch let slip by my neighbour, who was squelching up the path ahead of me) and actually slid a little ways downhill on my belly. My poor neighbour was mortified, but it was funny - I was giggling as I slid.
Another neighbour has a new puppy - a shar pei. I had to visit to meet it, because it's only just had its vaccination shots and isn't allowed out on the street. It's the cutest, sweetest pup, really adorable. She already has a chow chow and previously had akitas - she's keen on oriental breeds.
Speaking of unusual pets, I met a man taking his cat for a walk the other day! Luckily Bertie didn't spot it, so he had time to pick the cat up and I had time to get Bertie on the leash. The cat was very relaxed, but did give a warning growl when Bertie looked at it. He looked away again smartish - no way was he starting a fight! The man said the cat has already beaten up a doberman. Later on I spotted it sitting on the parcel shelf of his 4x4, a great big tabby with yellow eyes.
Bertie's in fine form - he's not had any accidents for a while now (touch wood). I did find a lump that worried me for a bit, but it's not gotten any bigger so the vet says it's probably ok. He certainly looks healthy, with a lovely sleek coat and the coldest, wettest nose around.
Work is fine - the new owners have been sacking people left and right but not in our department. Yet. I've never felt particularly secure, so after ten years on staff I'm used to worrying about being sacked!
17 April 2006
27 March 2006
:: at auction
A while back I visited the website of an auction firm in Falkirk and signed up to get the catalogue for its weekly sales by email. So now I get this lovely weekly dip into People's Stuff. The regular sale is Wednesday evenings, so because I work nights I never get to go. But one of these weeks I'm going to take a Wednesday off specifically so I can.
This week's catalogue is a real gem. There's the usual torrent of "Misc Including Carlton etc" and "China Table Lamp", and "sign of the times" lots - "2 Radiograms £20-£30" and "Sel of Records & Videos £8-£12" (and I really want to know the difference between "Box of Misc" and "Box of Odds"). There are also comical mysteries: "Coq Au Van. £6-£10", "Enamel Bread Bin & Contents £10-£15", "Lark Yukelleli. £10-£15".
But a weird dissonance gathers as you read through. For example:
287 Moorland Fish Vase. £ 20.00 — £ 30.00
288 Murano Glass Vase. £ 25.00 — £ 40.00
289 Lorna Bailey Startled Cat. £ 20.00 — £ 30.00
290 Selection of Coronation Street Stars Autographs. £ 30.00 — £ 50.00
291 Nazi Cup Saucer & Spoon. £ 15.00 — £ 20.00
292 Bretby Honey Box & Cover. £ 15.00 — £ 30.00
293 2 Golf Club Heads. £ 10.00 — £ 20.00
Woah! Nazi cup saucer and spoon? There's Nazi stuff sprinkled throughout the catalogue, mostly medals and badges. I googled Lorna Bailey and found she designs the most vile, garish ceramics imaginable. I started to get a woozy vision of a Colonel Bufferish character ("Masonic Apron Sash Jewel etc. £25-£40")surrounded by stamp albums, military paraphenalia and golfing kit. His wife channels her repressed rage into a vast collection of china cats, dogs, rabbits, birds and pigs. Their house is crammed with furniture - "6 Tier Open Bookcase" and "Mahogany Corner Cabinet".
I like to think he's the one who popped his clogs and she's moving to the south of France with the proceeds from the sale.
This week's catalogue is a real gem. There's the usual torrent of "Misc Including Carlton etc" and "China Table Lamp", and "sign of the times" lots - "2 Radiograms £20-£30" and "Sel of Records & Videos £8-£12" (and I really want to know the difference between "Box of Misc" and "Box of Odds"). There are also comical mysteries: "Coq Au Van. £6-£10", "Enamel Bread Bin & Contents £10-£15", "Lark Yukelleli. £10-£15".
But a weird dissonance gathers as you read through. For example:
287 Moorland Fish Vase. £ 20.00 — £ 30.00
288 Murano Glass Vase. £ 25.00 — £ 40.00
289 Lorna Bailey Startled Cat. £ 20.00 — £ 30.00
290 Selection of Coronation Street Stars Autographs. £ 30.00 — £ 50.00
291 Nazi Cup Saucer & Spoon. £ 15.00 — £ 20.00
292 Bretby Honey Box & Cover. £ 15.00 — £ 30.00
293 2 Golf Club Heads. £ 10.00 — £ 20.00
Woah! Nazi cup saucer and spoon? There's Nazi stuff sprinkled throughout the catalogue, mostly medals and badges. I googled Lorna Bailey and found she designs the most vile, garish ceramics imaginable. I started to get a woozy vision of a Colonel Bufferish character ("Masonic Apron Sash Jewel etc. £25-£40")surrounded by stamp albums, military paraphenalia and golfing kit. His wife channels her repressed rage into a vast collection of china cats, dogs, rabbits, birds and pigs. Their house is crammed with furniture - "6 Tier Open Bookcase" and "Mahogany Corner Cabinet".
I like to think he's the one who popped his clogs and she's moving to the south of France with the proceeds from the sale.
23 March 2006
:: back by popular demand
OK, it was just Mog. But hey, at least I have A Reader.
Um, so, what have I been doing? My knees have been pretty good lately so I've been going on longer walks - on Sunday, for example, I went to the Pentlands and ended up hiking for about three or four hours.
That's Carnethy Hill from Turnhouse Hill. In the olden days I would have kept on going over Carnethy and down the Old Kirk Road and walked back past the two reservoirs. But this time I felt a bit too knackered, so I cut straight down the hill. It looked easy from the top, ha ha! But it was incredibly steep and boggy too, so it was actually quite arduous. Plus because it's sheep country Bertie has to be on the lead. By this stage he was getting frustrated - "Come on, it's downhill! Shake a leg!" - and kept tugging on the lead. In the end I let him off, and he went crazy, zinging back and forth through the heather looking for the sheep. Luckily I managed to get him back on the lead before we got to them (they were at the bottom of the hill near the burn).
There was still a bit of snow around but it was pretty slushy. There's been a lot of snow around this winter (you can't really call it spring yet!) but very little in my neck of the woods. There was one decent fall at the beginning of this month but it only lasted a couple of days. There was another fall last week - see above for the remnants - but it lasted even less than that. And yesterday it snowed again but didn't lie.
Bertie loved the big snowfall - all the dogs did.
In between breaks in the weather I managed to plant some garlic, but haven't done any other gardening. One of the lavender bushes out the front has died - I guess I should have protected it from the frost. Everything else looks ok though. Hungry rabbits have kept the back lawn neatly trimmed. There are healthy buds on all the fruit bushes.
I realise from looking back that I haven't finished telling about the redecorating. It's a typical tale. Dumb move number one was getting the double bed before painting the small bedroom - that meant there was nowhere to put the furniture. Duh. Cue a week of edging around piles of stuff. Anyhoo, once I had the room stripped I started right in with the left-over paint from my own bedroom, a nice blue. Just to see how that would look, you know. And it did look ok, but after a wall and a half it became apparent that I didn't have nearly enough paint. The finish on the existing paint was a strange semi-gloss and the blue went on very unevenly. It was a B&Q own brand, so off I went for some more. Why I thought they would have any I don't know. They didn't. And I couldn't be bothered driving to the other branches to see if they had any, so I spent another hour dithering over colour chips and samples before choosing something called Cafe Au Lait or Caramel or Light Mud or something. You get the picture. Dull.
Home again I got busy with the roller. Next day I was back at B&Q for another bucket. Paint paint paint. Every time I thought I was finished I'd see another patchy patch. It was gruesome. And such a horrible colour! What was I thinking? Why not a nice fresh yellow? I threw everything back in, made the bed, put up the curtains and it still looked horrible. But I can't be bothered to do it again so it'll just have to stay like that.
The only other DIY I've done since then is to put doors on one of my bookshelves in the dining room, thus creating a cupboard for liquor and teatowels. How posh am I!
The city council is doing some redecorating though - they're fixing up the Ferry Glen walk. The glen is a beautiful little chunk of steeply-sloping woodland with a stream plunging down at one end. It did have a path through it but it's been neglected over the years and has mostly been washed away. For the past couple of weeks the sound of chainsaws has been loud as workmen clear out dead and sickly trees, chip them and spread the chips as mulch. They've had heavy machinery in too, widening the path and laying gravel and hard core. It's nearly finished.
There are still some trees waiting to be cut down. I'm going to miss some of them!
Um, so, what have I been doing? My knees have been pretty good lately so I've been going on longer walks - on Sunday, for example, I went to the Pentlands and ended up hiking for about three or four hours.
That's Carnethy Hill from Turnhouse Hill. In the olden days I would have kept on going over Carnethy and down the Old Kirk Road and walked back past the two reservoirs. But this time I felt a bit too knackered, so I cut straight down the hill. It looked easy from the top, ha ha! But it was incredibly steep and boggy too, so it was actually quite arduous. Plus because it's sheep country Bertie has to be on the lead. By this stage he was getting frustrated - "Come on, it's downhill! Shake a leg!" - and kept tugging on the lead. In the end I let him off, and he went crazy, zinging back and forth through the heather looking for the sheep. Luckily I managed to get him back on the lead before we got to them (they were at the bottom of the hill near the burn).
There was still a bit of snow around but it was pretty slushy. There's been a lot of snow around this winter (you can't really call it spring yet!) but very little in my neck of the woods. There was one decent fall at the beginning of this month but it only lasted a couple of days. There was another fall last week - see above for the remnants - but it lasted even less than that. And yesterday it snowed again but didn't lie.
Bertie loved the big snowfall - all the dogs did.
In between breaks in the weather I managed to plant some garlic, but haven't done any other gardening. One of the lavender bushes out the front has died - I guess I should have protected it from the frost. Everything else looks ok though. Hungry rabbits have kept the back lawn neatly trimmed. There are healthy buds on all the fruit bushes.
I realise from looking back that I haven't finished telling about the redecorating. It's a typical tale. Dumb move number one was getting the double bed before painting the small bedroom - that meant there was nowhere to put the furniture. Duh. Cue a week of edging around piles of stuff. Anyhoo, once I had the room stripped I started right in with the left-over paint from my own bedroom, a nice blue. Just to see how that would look, you know. And it did look ok, but after a wall and a half it became apparent that I didn't have nearly enough paint. The finish on the existing paint was a strange semi-gloss and the blue went on very unevenly. It was a B&Q own brand, so off I went for some more. Why I thought they would have any I don't know. They didn't. And I couldn't be bothered driving to the other branches to see if they had any, so I spent another hour dithering over colour chips and samples before choosing something called Cafe Au Lait or Caramel or Light Mud or something. You get the picture. Dull.
Home again I got busy with the roller. Next day I was back at B&Q for another bucket. Paint paint paint. Every time I thought I was finished I'd see another patchy patch. It was gruesome. And such a horrible colour! What was I thinking? Why not a nice fresh yellow? I threw everything back in, made the bed, put up the curtains and it still looked horrible. But I can't be bothered to do it again so it'll just have to stay like that.
The only other DIY I've done since then is to put doors on one of my bookshelves in the dining room, thus creating a cupboard for liquor and teatowels. How posh am I!
The city council is doing some redecorating though - they're fixing up the Ferry Glen walk. The glen is a beautiful little chunk of steeply-sloping woodland with a stream plunging down at one end. It did have a path through it but it's been neglected over the years and has mostly been washed away. For the past couple of weeks the sound of chainsaws has been loud as workmen clear out dead and sickly trees, chip them and spread the chips as mulch. They've had heavy machinery in too, widening the path and laying gravel and hard core. It's nearly finished.
There are still some trees waiting to be cut down. I'm going to miss some of them!
21 February 2006
:: rubbish!
I went on a litter-picking walk today. I do it occasionally - there's a few of us in the town do it, it's thankless but if we didn't the place would be knee-deep in cider empties and sweetie wrappers. So anyway I was down the bank with my litter-picker (kindly donated by Joyce from CleanFerry) scrabbling after supermarket bags when an old bloke with a spaniel stopped to congratulate me.
"You're doing a great job. But the council should be doing it!" He launched into a truly British rant about how he'd phoned up the head of the cleansing department about getting the path cleaned up, and he'd said it wasn't the council's job, but then next thing they'd cleaned the path!
I didn't tell about about Joyce's sterling work getting CleanFerry going, about the hundreds of bulbs she and her team planted along the Ferry Glen path, about the flower tubs she organised all along the High Street ... because he was into another stream about how he'd pestered the council about a load of empty bottles somewhere. And then he said: "I'm not saying you shouldn't do what you're doing, it's great - but I use the phone." And off he went!
OK he was old - but probably younger than the most energetic litter-picker, a chap who not only clambers down the bank after the cider empties but also recycles everything he can. And it's such a British attitude, to stand around yapping about how someone else should clean up the mess. Pommie whingers. It's made me even more motivated to pick up litter.
Gadget latest: Good news! The new FM transmitter arrived from Canada and worked like a dream, right out of the package. Fantastic! I'm now filling in forms to try and get compensation for the old one from the Royal Mail. I emailed them about it on the very day that they were fined £11.4 million for losing so much mail; I don't know how that will affect my claim.
Bertie says hi:
"You're doing a great job. But the council should be doing it!" He launched into a truly British rant about how he'd phoned up the head of the cleansing department about getting the path cleaned up, and he'd said it wasn't the council's job, but then next thing they'd cleaned the path!
I didn't tell about about Joyce's sterling work getting CleanFerry going, about the hundreds of bulbs she and her team planted along the Ferry Glen path, about the flower tubs she organised all along the High Street ... because he was into another stream about how he'd pestered the council about a load of empty bottles somewhere. And then he said: "I'm not saying you shouldn't do what you're doing, it's great - but I use the phone." And off he went!
OK he was old - but probably younger than the most energetic litter-picker, a chap who not only clambers down the bank after the cider empties but also recycles everything he can. And it's such a British attitude, to stand around yapping about how someone else should clean up the mess. Pommie whingers. It's made me even more motivated to pick up litter.
Gadget latest: Good news! The new FM transmitter arrived from Canada and worked like a dream, right out of the package. Fantastic! I'm now filling in forms to try and get compensation for the old one from the Royal Mail. I emailed them about it on the very day that they were fined £11.4 million for losing so much mail; I don't know how that will affect my claim.
Bertie says hi:
10 February 2006
:: gadget update
I mailed my non-functioning FM transmitter back to the dudes in Dundee, waited a week then emailed them to ask if they got it. They say not. So I've written that off (though of course I will keep hassling them for a refund) and ordered another one - from a firm in Canada this time. It's a bit more expensive but has whizzy features like a curly cord. It also has very good reviews and the blurb promises that "no matter what, you will be able to transmit".
I soooo want this to work!
I soooo want this to work!
:: schadenfreude
There's this bit of road on the way home that's particularly annoying, especially to the driver who's had a super-stressful night at work and at 1.30am is looking forward to slumping on the sofa with a hot drink and the remote control. It's right on the outskirts of the city, and after you go over the bridge, out of the built-up area, there's an upward sweep and the road becomes a motorway. Here's the catch, though: the speed limit rises from 40mph to 70mph halfway up the slope. So the temptation is for the tired, stressed-out night worker is to accelerate up the slope, giving her underpowered, girly car the momentum to reach the top without having to change down to avoid slowing.
Imagine my chagrin then, when I succumbed to that temptation a couple of years back and saw flashing blue lights in my rear-view mirror. I didn't get a ticket or anything but had to go through various humiliations, including lying on the passenger seat to grapple with the bonnet catch (the cops were men, I guess they just like to look at engines). Since then I've been fairly scrupulous about not going over 50mph before I get to the open limit sign. This means I'm fairly often passed at speed by other cars - which really gets up my nose, especially at 1.30am after a super-stressful night at work. Why aren't they caught? Why just me? They're going much faster than I was when I was caught (52mph for the record - there's some sort of 10%-plus-4 rule of thumb for safe speeding).
Last night I was doing my scrupulous 48-and-a-bit-mph run-up to the hill when a car whizzed past me, a souped-up lad's car with too many headlights, you know the kind. Grrr, I thought. Then another car whizzed past, and would you believe it, it was a police car! "Faster, you idiot, faster! You'll never catch them!" I yelled as I accelarated recklessly over 50mph. "They're getting away!" I screeched as they went past the turnoff at what looked like a snail's pace. Round the bend though, I saw a wonderful sight: blue flashing lights. Yessss! Take that, boy racers, and stick it up your tailpipe! Ha ha ha!!
Yep, it doesn't take much to cheer me up these days: a clump of snowdrops, sunshine on the first blush of blossom, blue lights flashing for someone else.
The Liberal Democrats have just thrashed Labour in the Dunfermline by-election. There's a turn-up for the books. Everyone thought Labour would win by a slim margin - it had a big majority last time. And it's a definite win, majority of 2,000-odd. Wow.
Back to work....
Imagine my chagrin then, when I succumbed to that temptation a couple of years back and saw flashing blue lights in my rear-view mirror. I didn't get a ticket or anything but had to go through various humiliations, including lying on the passenger seat to grapple with the bonnet catch (the cops were men, I guess they just like to look at engines). Since then I've been fairly scrupulous about not going over 50mph before I get to the open limit sign. This means I'm fairly often passed at speed by other cars - which really gets up my nose, especially at 1.30am after a super-stressful night at work. Why aren't they caught? Why just me? They're going much faster than I was when I was caught (52mph for the record - there's some sort of 10%-plus-4 rule of thumb for safe speeding).
Last night I was doing my scrupulous 48-and-a-bit-mph run-up to the hill when a car whizzed past me, a souped-up lad's car with too many headlights, you know the kind. Grrr, I thought. Then another car whizzed past, and would you believe it, it was a police car! "Faster, you idiot, faster! You'll never catch them!" I yelled as I accelarated recklessly over 50mph. "They're getting away!" I screeched as they went past the turnoff at what looked like a snail's pace. Round the bend though, I saw a wonderful sight: blue flashing lights. Yessss! Take that, boy racers, and stick it up your tailpipe! Ha ha ha!!
Yep, it doesn't take much to cheer me up these days: a clump of snowdrops, sunshine on the first blush of blossom, blue lights flashing for someone else.
The Liberal Democrats have just thrashed Labour in the Dunfermline by-election. There's a turn-up for the books. Everyone thought Labour would win by a slim margin - it had a big majority last time. And it's a definite win, majority of 2,000-odd. Wow.
Back to work....
20 January 2006
:: Inspector Gadget
Wah! My latest gadget doesn't work. My new car has a CD player, so I haven't been able to listen to my MP3 player via the tape-deck adaptor. Last month I went in to an electronics store and asked if a CD adaptor had been invented yet. No, it hasn't, said the nice young man (they don't have personal jet packs yet either, or Star Trek-style replicators). But! There is this gadget which is kind of illegal so we don't sell it but you can get it on the internet.
Yes!! It ticks all my boxes already and I don't even know what it is!
What it is, is an FM transmitter. You plug it in to the headphone socket of your MP3 player and it broadcasts a signal which you can pick up on your car radio. How cool is that?
So I went on the internet and found one and ordered it and it arrived yesterday. There was no manual with it and it was different from the model I'd ordered, but it seemed simple enough. I read up on other transmitters and did all the right things. That is, I sat in my car for ages with the motor idling, stepping my car radio through the frequencies looking for a gap, then tuning the gadget to that frequency and waving the gadget round trying to get the radio to pick up the transmission. I don't know what my neighbours thought I was up to.
But it doesn't work, waaaah! And the firm doesn't answer my emails, double wah! Happily I bought it through Amazon, which has a policy whereby if a reseller doesn't refund then they will. It's not the money though - it wasn't that expensive - it's the disappointment! I really wanted it to work. Bah.
In other news, I have next week off to really get stuck into the DIY. I spent a sweaty weekend getting the blinds secured in the spare room and moving furniture around ready for the new bed, which arrived right on schecule on Monday and is nice and comfy. I still have a heap of work to do though, so a week off will be perfect. I also hope to do some long walks, weather permitting (it's apparently coming over from Russia, though Scotland will miss the worst).
Tomorrow I have to visit the marina to look at the latest redevelopment plans. I'm taking my camera and will post some shots.
No winner in the EuroMillions lottery tonight: the jackpot rolls over to £100 million next week. £100 million!
Yes!! It ticks all my boxes already and I don't even know what it is!
What it is, is an FM transmitter. You plug it in to the headphone socket of your MP3 player and it broadcasts a signal which you can pick up on your car radio. How cool is that?
So I went on the internet and found one and ordered it and it arrived yesterday. There was no manual with it and it was different from the model I'd ordered, but it seemed simple enough. I read up on other transmitters and did all the right things. That is, I sat in my car for ages with the motor idling, stepping my car radio through the frequencies looking for a gap, then tuning the gadget to that frequency and waving the gadget round trying to get the radio to pick up the transmission. I don't know what my neighbours thought I was up to.
But it doesn't work, waaaah! And the firm doesn't answer my emails, double wah! Happily I bought it through Amazon, which has a policy whereby if a reseller doesn't refund then they will. It's not the money though - it wasn't that expensive - it's the disappointment! I really wanted it to work. Bah.
In other news, I have next week off to really get stuck into the DIY. I spent a sweaty weekend getting the blinds secured in the spare room and moving furniture around ready for the new bed, which arrived right on schecule on Monday and is nice and comfy. I still have a heap of work to do though, so a week off will be perfect. I also hope to do some long walks, weather permitting (it's apparently coming over from Russia, though Scotland will miss the worst).
Tomorrow I have to visit the marina to look at the latest redevelopment plans. I'm taking my camera and will post some shots.
No winner in the EuroMillions lottery tonight: the jackpot rolls over to £100 million next week. £100 million!
4 January 2006
:: DIY oh why
How hard could it be?
The spare room needs some work, no doubt about it. I've ordered a double bed, so couples can stay in comfort. The window had a blind, a cheap one that was starting to sag in the middle because of the width it was stretching across. So the plan was to trim the blind back and fit it into the actual window space, and put up some curtains as well, for a "window treatment" effect. Flash, eh?
So I went to Ikea on Monday for curtains for the spare room and the small bedroom, which will now house the single bed. This room used to have a venetian blind, but it came crashing down during cleaning operations last month, smashing the brackets. After much mulling at Ikea (which, it being a public holiday, was crowded with people mulling and their bored, bawling children), I chose curtains, rods and finials, plus a nice frame for a gorgeous print Mum sent me for Christmas. Got home and realised I'd forgotten to get brackets for the rods. Sigh, tsk, etc. Yesterday morning I went back thinking that at least Ikea wouldn't be so crowded, only to find it was so insanely busy that the carpark was full. It felt crazy to have to battle the crowds for such a tiny purchase.
Last night I took down the blind, cut it to the approximate size, discovered it was still too wide and cut it again. Then I unscrewed the brackets and repositioned them, after drilling holes in the surround and causing a large crack in the masonry on one side. Sigh, tsk, etc. Fitted the trimmed blind into place, admired the general effect and rolled it up. Blind came crashing down. Sigh, tsk, etc. I've put it back up but I'll have to reposition the brackets somehow to make it secure.
The next step was to put up the brackets for the curtain rods, and that went fairly smoothly, apart from having to take them down again after discovering that the screw that grips the pole is positioned so that it couldn't be loosened in situ except with a very short screwdriver, which of course I don't have. By this stage I was too exhausted and filthy to contemplate hemming the curtains, so I haven't quite finished. But it's going to look lovely.
In between bouts of Ikea and DIY, I went on a few lovely walks. One was along Roslin Glen, which I haven't done for years. Bertie loved that one - a new walk! With extra mud!
Roslin Castle, right next to Rosslyn Chapel (which is under heavy scaffolding and doesn't look romantic at all). Click here for fascinating information about the castle, including the legend of the big scary dog. As soon as I let Bertie off the lead, just under the castle walls, he went hurtling off in the wrong direction. I whistled him back and he came flying, but didn't see me and dashed past, scaring the bejesus out of a young couple coming the other way. Maybe they'd just been reading about the legend!
The spare room needs some work, no doubt about it. I've ordered a double bed, so couples can stay in comfort. The window had a blind, a cheap one that was starting to sag in the middle because of the width it was stretching across. So the plan was to trim the blind back and fit it into the actual window space, and put up some curtains as well, for a "window treatment" effect. Flash, eh?
So I went to Ikea on Monday for curtains for the spare room and the small bedroom, which will now house the single bed. This room used to have a venetian blind, but it came crashing down during cleaning operations last month, smashing the brackets. After much mulling at Ikea (which, it being a public holiday, was crowded with people mulling and their bored, bawling children), I chose curtains, rods and finials, plus a nice frame for a gorgeous print Mum sent me for Christmas. Got home and realised I'd forgotten to get brackets for the rods. Sigh, tsk, etc. Yesterday morning I went back thinking that at least Ikea wouldn't be so crowded, only to find it was so insanely busy that the carpark was full. It felt crazy to have to battle the crowds for such a tiny purchase.
Last night I took down the blind, cut it to the approximate size, discovered it was still too wide and cut it again. Then I unscrewed the brackets and repositioned them, after drilling holes in the surround and causing a large crack in the masonry on one side. Sigh, tsk, etc. Fitted the trimmed blind into place, admired the general effect and rolled it up. Blind came crashing down. Sigh, tsk, etc. I've put it back up but I'll have to reposition the brackets somehow to make it secure.
The next step was to put up the brackets for the curtain rods, and that went fairly smoothly, apart from having to take them down again after discovering that the screw that grips the pole is positioned so that it couldn't be loosened in situ except with a very short screwdriver, which of course I don't have. By this stage I was too exhausted and filthy to contemplate hemming the curtains, so I haven't quite finished. But it's going to look lovely.
In between bouts of Ikea and DIY, I went on a few lovely walks. One was along Roslin Glen, which I haven't done for years. Bertie loved that one - a new walk! With extra mud!
Roslin Castle, right next to Rosslyn Chapel (which is under heavy scaffolding and doesn't look romantic at all). Click here for fascinating information about the castle, including the legend of the big scary dog. As soon as I let Bertie off the lead, just under the castle walls, he went hurtling off in the wrong direction. I whistled him back and he came flying, but didn't see me and dashed past, scaring the bejesus out of a young couple coming the other way. Maybe they'd just been reading about the legend!
1 January 2006
:: Happy New Year!
Just back in from a big long walk around Holyrood Park, plus a side trip to Linlithgow. Holyrood Park was hotching today - there was the annual One O'Clock Run, the Bicycle Triathlon and Dogmanay, aka husky racing. Bertie was freaked out by the crowds and by the husky-racing commentary, which was echoing round the hills and crags. "HIKE AWAY hike away hike away ay ay HIKE AWAY hike away ay ay YIYIYIYI yiyiyiyiyi!!!!!!!!!" Poor dog was completely baffled. I had imagined the huskies would have been running on a trail in the hills, but they were confined to quite a small oval down on the flat by the palace, running just two teams at a time. I squeezed through to watch a couple of races but they weren't very thrilling: the dogs didn't seem to be taking them seriously at all, some teams were barely running & the mushers were having to scoot their carts along. Bertie was all a-tremble with fear and excitement - "Is she cold?" people asked constantly.
As it was a nice day I drove on past Queensferry to Linlithgow for a walk by the loch. It was much, much colder there, though, so we didn't linger.
I had a quiet New Year's Eve - quiet that is apart from the sound of a dog alternately barking and frantically trying to dig a hole in a corner of the livingroom. I phoned Pinky just after the Bells and had to raise my voice to be heard over the racket. You're supposed to just ignore them, according to the dog behaviourists, otherwise you can inadvertantly reward the activity. But it's hard to ignore such a carry-on! He'd been pretty good most of the evening; there were fireworks earlier but I left the radio on (Classic FM) and all the curtains pulled and he slept on. But at midnight there was a loud volley across the road and behind the house too.
I have another couple of days off and will spend them doing a spot of shopping and DIY. Faye's coming to stay next month, and then Margaret, Jean and Rachael in June, so I've decided to freshen up the spare room. I'm going to put a double bed in there, and move the single bed into the small bedroom that was my study before I got the laptop. I'm going to shop for a bed in the sales tomorrow. I'm also going to paint the small bedroom - it's the one room that hasn't been done yet. Both spare bedrooms need curtains as well, something else I hope to get in the sales. The small room used to have venetians, but they broke with a crash last month - the brackets snapped off.
I may move the old desktop computer into the larger room, I'll see what works best. The big spare bedroom is where Bertie's bed is, so he may have to move. I remember when I decorated my bedroom and moved my furniture in there: my kingsize bed happened to go where Bertie's bed was, and he just assumed I was giving it to him and was mightily pissed off to be booted off!
16 December 2005
:: I have the powah
After weeks of grinding my teeth, suddenly it all flows. The car is booked in for a service next Tuesday and a courtesy car will be provided (at first they said no, I'd have to wait two weeks for a courtesy car but I put my foot down quite hard & they capitulated. I would have demanded the sales manager's car if they'd stuck to their guns!).
A new certificate of motor insurance is winging its way to me as well. Yesterday I had the humiliation of going to the PO to renew my tax disc only to discover I had the wrong insurance certificate - and I couldn't find the right one anywhere. (For kiwis: the tax disc is a windscreen sticker that shows you've paid your registration fee; insurance is compulsory over here, so you have to prove you've got it before you can get a tax disc.)
And being on a roll, when I got to work I immediately spotted something set up wrong that could have resulted in mayhem later on, and not only that but I found a simple and elegant solution.
I'm so glad that sticky patch is over. I have a lot of stuff to do this weekend! First off tomorrow is the Christmas work do - lunch in an Italian restaurant followed by drinks at a pub up the road.
A new certificate of motor insurance is winging its way to me as well. Yesterday I had the humiliation of going to the PO to renew my tax disc only to discover I had the wrong insurance certificate - and I couldn't find the right one anywhere. (For kiwis: the tax disc is a windscreen sticker that shows you've paid your registration fee; insurance is compulsory over here, so you have to prove you've got it before you can get a tax disc.)
And being on a roll, when I got to work I immediately spotted something set up wrong that could have resulted in mayhem later on, and not only that but I found a simple and elegant solution.
I'm so glad that sticky patch is over. I have a lot of stuff to do this weekend! First off tomorrow is the Christmas work do - lunch in an Italian restaurant followed by drinks at a pub up the road.
13 December 2005
:: nothing's ever that simple
When I bought a shiny, nearly-new Ford to replace my ageing, clapped-out Peugeot, I was savvy enough to ask for a service record. There wasn't one, but the salesman said it should have had a service, and promised to track down the record for me. This is where my savvy came undone. I believed him! I know! A used car salesman!
Six months on I still haven't got the record. Not only that - it transpires I haven't got the service record because there isn't one: the car has never been serviced. So now I'm waiting for the Ford service centre to phone to arrange for a service - no doubt at a time of maximum inconvenience.
Mind you, any time until after New Year would be a time of maximum inconvenience. Unless they give me a courtesy car - some friends with an Audi have a brand-new one to tool around in while their airconditioning leak is sorted out. I'm not used to these little luxuries: with my old car I would drop it at the local garage on my way home from work and pick it up on my way to work the next day. But the Ford service place is out in industrial estate country, near the bypass.
I'm starting to feel like that League of Gentlemen character: "Are you local?" I've abandoned my fancy-pants city hairdresser for the local salon. And it's so liberating! I popped in (popping in is such a "local" thing to do, isn't it?) yesterday and made an appointment for today. Left home two minutes before the appointment and arrived bang on time. Half an hour later I was home with glossy, neatly trimmed hair, for a fraction of the price. My previous hairdresser was originally "local", in that his salon was just up the road from my old flat. But then high rents drove them out to a bustling suburb, and news of his excellence meant he got busier and more expensive, while I moved out here. I'd have to book weeks in advance, then drive in (it was either that or two buses), spend ages looking for a park, pay a small fortune and drive home (half an hour each way). Local is the way to go.
Six months on I still haven't got the record. Not only that - it transpires I haven't got the service record because there isn't one: the car has never been serviced. So now I'm waiting for the Ford service centre to phone to arrange for a service - no doubt at a time of maximum inconvenience.
Mind you, any time until after New Year would be a time of maximum inconvenience. Unless they give me a courtesy car - some friends with an Audi have a brand-new one to tool around in while their airconditioning leak is sorted out. I'm not used to these little luxuries: with my old car I would drop it at the local garage on my way home from work and pick it up on my way to work the next day. But the Ford service place is out in industrial estate country, near the bypass.
I'm starting to feel like that League of Gentlemen character: "Are you local?" I've abandoned my fancy-pants city hairdresser for the local salon. And it's so liberating! I popped in (popping in is such a "local" thing to do, isn't it?) yesterday and made an appointment for today. Left home two minutes before the appointment and arrived bang on time. Half an hour later I was home with glossy, neatly trimmed hair, for a fraction of the price. My previous hairdresser was originally "local", in that his salon was just up the road from my old flat. But then high rents drove them out to a bustling suburb, and news of his excellence meant he got busier and more expensive, while I moved out here. I'd have to book weeks in advance, then drive in (it was either that or two buses), spend ages looking for a park, pay a small fortune and drive home (half an hour each way). Local is the way to go.
2 December 2005
:: plumb crazy
The plumber-who-put-Jack's-bath-in-wrong wasn't busy at all. He - or rather his underling - rang the doorbell at 9am on Thursday, the day after I phoned. Underling, an extremely reserved youth, scurried up the ladder into the loft and had the ballcock replaced in a jiffy. He didn't have a timer in the van, he said, so he'd be back later.
I popped up to the loft and put the lid back on the header tank and tucked in its cosy insulation. It is winter, after all.
Underling returned at lunchtime. He had the old timer off in a jiffy but couldn't work out how to fit the new one. After a phone call his boss arrived. I sat in on the lesson in How to Replace a Timer and I think I could do it myself now. Apparently it's reasonably important to make a note of which wire goes where, or else you may fuse the switch and get told off and have to run out to the van for a new fuse and a better screwdriver. Also, it's good to turn off the switch before poking at live wires with said screwdriver.
Eventually they got the thing wired up, but then the heating wouldn't come on. It's your solenoid, Bossman said. Eh? Then the heating came on. "It should come on right away," he said. "It came on right away last night," I replied. He denied having caused solenoidal problems & suggested I replace it - "forty quid". When I balked, pointing out that it was actually still working, he suddenly noticed the lack of ventilation.
Uh oh. Next thing Underling is hurrying out to the van for a notice, which Bossman duly affixed to the front of the gas heater.
Every time a gas plumber comes to my house I end up with a notice tied to the heater. Scottish Gas do nice big yellow ones. The real scunner though was when he came back the next morning (9am again) with a form for me to sign, presumably absolving himself of all responsibility in the event of me dying of carbon monoxide poisoning. I don't know, I was still asleep when I signed it.
The new timer is a snazzy electronic number, though it does pretty much the same job as the old one. Which had a sticker on the back showing that it was over 20 years old!
The new timer won't need to last that long - I'm planning to get a new system in the next couple of years.
I'm really tired of those warnings.
I popped up to the loft and put the lid back on the header tank and tucked in its cosy insulation. It is winter, after all.
Underling returned at lunchtime. He had the old timer off in a jiffy but couldn't work out how to fit the new one. After a phone call his boss arrived. I sat in on the lesson in How to Replace a Timer and I think I could do it myself now. Apparently it's reasonably important to make a note of which wire goes where, or else you may fuse the switch and get told off and have to run out to the van for a new fuse and a better screwdriver. Also, it's good to turn off the switch before poking at live wires with said screwdriver.
Eventually they got the thing wired up, but then the heating wouldn't come on. It's your solenoid, Bossman said. Eh? Then the heating came on. "It should come on right away," he said. "It came on right away last night," I replied. He denied having caused solenoidal problems & suggested I replace it - "forty quid". When I balked, pointing out that it was actually still working, he suddenly noticed the lack of ventilation.
Uh oh. Next thing Underling is hurrying out to the van for a notice, which Bossman duly affixed to the front of the gas heater.
Every time a gas plumber comes to my house I end up with a notice tied to the heater. Scottish Gas do nice big yellow ones. The real scunner though was when he came back the next morning (9am again) with a form for me to sign, presumably absolving himself of all responsibility in the event of me dying of carbon monoxide poisoning. I don't know, I was still asleep when I signed it.
The new timer is a snazzy electronic number, though it does pretty much the same job as the old one. Which had a sticker on the back showing that it was over 20 years old!
The new timer won't need to last that long - I'm planning to get a new system in the next couple of years.
I'm really tired of those warnings.
29 November 2005
:: stood up
How naive was I, thinking the plumber would come today just because he said he would? He said tea-time, which I narrowed down to "around five or six". I waited until 7.30 before phoning. He'd forgotten. He couldn't come now because he was going out. And then he got angry with me! It was like I'm some kind of mad stalker who keeps ringing him up. He's too nice to just say no, so he doesn't show up and hopes I'll stop calling. We had a big fight and now we're through. Sob.
Tomorrow I'll try someone else, maybe the other local plumber, the one who put Jack's new bathroom in but put the wrong slant on the bath so that water collects in the wastepipe and smells musty. He probably won't be busy.
Aside from that it was an ok day - did some housework, did some computer stuff (very satisfying, actually, though far too geeky to go into here - I solved a problem with my old computer that I had thought was insoluble).
And, I now have "Happy Birthday" down pat on the guitar and have started on "Ode to Joy". It's trickier because you pluck with two fingers - it's going to take forever to learn, but it's lovely. I prefer picking to chords, though I'm also practising some blues style riffing.
Tomorrow I'll try someone else, maybe the other local plumber, the one who put Jack's new bathroom in but put the wrong slant on the bath so that water collects in the wastepipe and smells musty. He probably won't be busy.
Aside from that it was an ok day - did some housework, did some computer stuff (very satisfying, actually, though far too geeky to go into here - I solved a problem with my old computer that I had thought was insoluble).
And, I now have "Happy Birthday" down pat on the guitar and have started on "Ode to Joy". It's trickier because you pluck with two fingers - it's going to take forever to learn, but it's lovely. I prefer picking to chords, though I'm also practising some blues style riffing.
25 November 2005
:: birthdays
Having been pretty slack about sending out birthday greetings this year I was touched at how many people remembered mine! Presents included matching teacosy and scarf, fromm Pinky and Mum respectively. The scarf, bought in Dunedin (I assume) is light purple and the teacosy, bought in Auckland, is red, but they're made of the same kind of yarn, a wild hairy stuff. All very apt for today, when we got a fierce blast of weather from the Arctic. Lots of places got thick snow (including the south-west of England), but we just got sleet, which is miserable stuff.
Many thanks to everyone.
It's Bertie's birthday tomorrow - he'll be eight, which makes him about my age now. He's going quite grey and getting very grumbly and set in his ways. I was cursing him this morning - how delicious it would have been to have sat there reading as the sleet lashed the windows. How undelicious it was to struggle into several layers of woollies and waterproofs and trudge around the town.
Bizarrely the firm that looks after the gardens of the flats across the road chose today to turn up. They were trimming and mowing for a few hours in the worst of the weather. Otherwise it was just the dogwalkers out and about.
I'm still having plumbing woes. The main woe now is trying to get anyone to sort out my plumbing woes. It's frustrating because I'm pretty sure I could do it myself, but I'm too scared in case I a) bring down the ceiling (header tank) or b) blow the place up (timer clock). So I'm reduced to phoning the Recommended Plumber every day.
"So, do you think you can come this afternoon?"
"Weeeeellll, I might be able to get over before half three, but to tell you the truth I'm strugglin. We're so busy just now, and I've got to get these jobs finished before Christmas."
"What? You mean to say that even if you can come round and look at mine, you won't have time to do the actual work?"
"If I could just come round in the evening ... it's getting there by half three that's the problem."
So anyway now he's coming round on Monday evening, my day off. I suspect I will be very, very lucky to get anything done before Christmas. The alternative is to ring 500 other plumbers, who will all be too busy except for the one who has messed up so many jobs he doesn't get any repeat work. So as it's not urgent I'll just let the Recommended Plumber work through his To Do list.
In the meantime maybe I should drop some dye in the header tank so the icicles in the honeysuckle are nice festive colours.
Many thanks to everyone.
It's Bertie's birthday tomorrow - he'll be eight, which makes him about my age now. He's going quite grey and getting very grumbly and set in his ways. I was cursing him this morning - how delicious it would have been to have sat there reading as the sleet lashed the windows. How undelicious it was to struggle into several layers of woollies and waterproofs and trudge around the town.
Bizarrely the firm that looks after the gardens of the flats across the road chose today to turn up. They were trimming and mowing for a few hours in the worst of the weather. Otherwise it was just the dogwalkers out and about.
I'm still having plumbing woes. The main woe now is trying to get anyone to sort out my plumbing woes. It's frustrating because I'm pretty sure I could do it myself, but I'm too scared in case I a) bring down the ceiling (header tank) or b) blow the place up (timer clock). So I'm reduced to phoning the Recommended Plumber every day.
"So, do you think you can come this afternoon?"
"Weeeeellll, I might be able to get over before half three, but to tell you the truth I'm strugglin. We're so busy just now, and I've got to get these jobs finished before Christmas."
"What? You mean to say that even if you can come round and look at mine, you won't have time to do the actual work?"
"If I could just come round in the evening ... it's getting there by half three that's the problem."
So anyway now he's coming round on Monday evening, my day off. I suspect I will be very, very lucky to get anything done before Christmas. The alternative is to ring 500 other plumbers, who will all be too busy except for the one who has messed up so many jobs he doesn't get any repeat work. So as it's not urgent I'll just let the Recommended Plumber work through his To Do list.
In the meantime maybe I should drop some dye in the header tank so the icicles in the honeysuckle are nice festive colours.
13 November 2005
:: heavy duty
Pretty tiring week, one way and another - work in particular is tiring, and then there was a couple of nights of broken sleep due to a combination of gale-force winds and nervous dogs, Ozzy in particular. He also freaked out when my Saturday morning paper was delivered (at 6:30am - who knew? my respect for the newsagent just trebled). Last night was tranquil, however, so I feel refreshed and ready for work - which is just as well, because it will be hard.
Ozzy is settling in really well. He's lying on the sofa next to me as I type this (loving the laptop! surfing from the sofa!) worn out after a long walk. He's always on the alert though - his ears are up. Bertie, aka Mr Mogadon, is upstairs, completely joed out.
I've got tomorrow off, and am determined to use it wisely - the main project is getting to grips with the header tank.
Ozzy is settling in really well. He's lying on the sofa next to me as I type this (loving the laptop! surfing from the sofa!) worn out after a long walk. He's always on the alert though - his ears are up. Bertie, aka Mr Mogadon, is upstairs, completely joed out.
I've got tomorrow off, and am determined to use it wisely - the main project is getting to grips with the header tank.
10 November 2005
:: guess who's coming for your dinner?
Ozzy!
Yes, the terrierist is back - for eight sleeps, this time. Penny said she told him this morning that he was going to see Bertie and he ran to the door, crying with excitment. Bertie is cool! Bertie has fun toys and great-tasting food! Bertie catches real live hedgehogs!
So at lunchtime Ozzy came bursting through the door and took charge. He checked out the food dish (yum! tasty!), tried out the toys, chewed on a bone, climbed on the furniture. But Bertie still wins when it comes to wildlife - he led the charge into the back yard to chase off the two rabbits and the squirrel that pretty much seem to have taken up permanent residence out there.
Ozzy has calmed down quite a bit since his last stay and he should be ok. So long as the fox keeps its yap shut at night, anyway.
I think I cracked the plumbing crisis: the water is now trickling out of a pipe that emerges from under the eaves. That means a problem with the header tank ballcock, probably. At some point over the weekend I'll get a proper inspection light and have a good look. I can bend the ballcock bar as a short-term fix, but I might have to replace the assembly in the end. That should be easy enough, though my big problem with these kind of jobs is finding the shutoff tap and draining things down. I also have a morbid fear of falling through the ceiling. (I'm fairly sure Ozzy would eat me after a couple of days.)
And I do remember the bathroom tap ordeal, when changing the washers turned into a mole wrench nightmare of epic proportions. I kind of almost know what I'm doing, which is in some ways worse than not knowing anything at all and getting a plumber in. It's cheaper though!
Yes, the terrierist is back - for eight sleeps, this time. Penny said she told him this morning that he was going to see Bertie and he ran to the door, crying with excitment. Bertie is cool! Bertie has fun toys and great-tasting food! Bertie catches real live hedgehogs!
So at lunchtime Ozzy came bursting through the door and took charge. He checked out the food dish (yum! tasty!), tried out the toys, chewed on a bone, climbed on the furniture. But Bertie still wins when it comes to wildlife - he led the charge into the back yard to chase off the two rabbits and the squirrel that pretty much seem to have taken up permanent residence out there.
Ozzy has calmed down quite a bit since his last stay and he should be ok. So long as the fox keeps its yap shut at night, anyway.
I think I cracked the plumbing crisis: the water is now trickling out of a pipe that emerges from under the eaves. That means a problem with the header tank ballcock, probably. At some point over the weekend I'll get a proper inspection light and have a good look. I can bend the ballcock bar as a short-term fix, but I might have to replace the assembly in the end. That should be easy enough, though my big problem with these kind of jobs is finding the shutoff tap and draining things down. I also have a morbid fear of falling through the ceiling. (I'm fairly sure Ozzy would eat me after a couple of days.)
And I do remember the bathroom tap ordeal, when changing the washers turned into a mole wrench nightmare of epic proportions. I kind of almost know what I'm doing, which is in some ways worse than not knowing anything at all and getting a plumber in. It's cheaper though!
6 November 2005
:: Guy Fawkes
After 400 years, isn't it time to give it a rest?
I used to love fireworks, and now I hate them nearly as much as Bertie does. The DAP doesn't seem to have any effect at all. Last night the racket was so bad he tore up his duvet in a frenzy of fear. He also barked and cried and paced around. Finally BBC Radio 2 playing loudly upstairs and in the kitchen seemed to put him into something like a coma. He was in a froth from when he heard the first bang - at about 4pm, while we were out on a walk - right through until about 11pm.
Tonight isn't quite so bad - the first few explosions rattled him but he settled down on the shredded remains of his duvet to listen to PJ Proby and Elvis. But then it got bad and he had a couple of hours of barking and crying and pacing. He's settled down again now (operetta and hits from the musicals) - I hope that's it. Poooooor boy!
One of the neighbours is giving his dog a natural remedy for fireworks misery - since DAP seems to have been rather a waste of time, I might try that. I think the problem with the pheromones is that Bertie doesn't sleep in one room most of the time - he like to move around the house, so he's probably not getting enough of a treatment to affect him greatly.
I used to love fireworks, and now I hate them nearly as much as Bertie does. The DAP doesn't seem to have any effect at all. Last night the racket was so bad he tore up his duvet in a frenzy of fear. He also barked and cried and paced around. Finally BBC Radio 2 playing loudly upstairs and in the kitchen seemed to put him into something like a coma. He was in a froth from when he heard the first bang - at about 4pm, while we were out on a walk - right through until about 11pm.
Tonight isn't quite so bad - the first few explosions rattled him but he settled down on the shredded remains of his duvet to listen to PJ Proby and Elvis. But then it got bad and he had a couple of hours of barking and crying and pacing. He's settled down again now (operetta and hits from the musicals) - I hope that's it. Poooooor boy!
One of the neighbours is giving his dog a natural remedy for fireworks misery - since DAP seems to have been rather a waste of time, I might try that. I think the problem with the pheromones is that Bertie doesn't sleep in one room most of the time - he like to move around the house, so he's probably not getting enough of a treatment to affect him greatly.
3 November 2005
:: loft living
I spent half the morning teetering around the loft with a torch, desperately looking for leaks. It's a big space, criss-crossed with wooden roofbeams. There's no lighting and no floor, just the ceilings joists and various bits of wood - old doors and such. The long-term plan is to put up a proper loft ladder and floor at least part of it. For the meantime, getting up there involves climbing a stepladder through a hatch in the hallway ceiling.
So there I am, balancing on a joist, torch in hand, grubbing around in the insulation. Some of this is pink fibreglass batts, but a lot of it is ... well I don't know - it looks like kapok. Piles of yellowish fluff.
It was tricky working out where I was in relation to the leak. Every bit of ceiling I looked at was dry. The roof seemed completely sound, which was good, but the lack of water was mystifying. At long last I found some slightly damp insulation and a small patch of mould. Hurrah! And then I spotted what I hope is the culprit: a plastic pipe exiting from a small header tank (for the hot water tank, I think) had come adrift. It seems to be an overflow pipe. I jammed it back together again, but I will have to go back up armed with gaffer tape and a better light. And maybe some planks! There was one terrifying moment when I lost my balance and nearly trod heavily on the bedroom ceiling. Managed to grab a beam at the last minute, wrenching my shoulder but at least not plunging down through a new skylight.
So there I am, balancing on a joist, torch in hand, grubbing around in the insulation. Some of this is pink fibreglass batts, but a lot of it is ... well I don't know - it looks like kapok. Piles of yellowish fluff.
It was tricky working out where I was in relation to the leak. Every bit of ceiling I looked at was dry. The roof seemed completely sound, which was good, but the lack of water was mystifying. At long last I found some slightly damp insulation and a small patch of mould. Hurrah! And then I spotted what I hope is the culprit: a plastic pipe exiting from a small header tank (for the hot water tank, I think) had come adrift. It seems to be an overflow pipe. I jammed it back together again, but I will have to go back up armed with gaffer tape and a better light. And maybe some planks! There was one terrifying moment when I lost my balance and nearly trod heavily on the bedroom ceiling. Managed to grab a beam at the last minute, wrenching my shoulder but at least not plunging down through a new skylight.
2 November 2005
:: something nasty in the attic
Just before I left for work today, for some reason my eyes strayed to the ceiling in the upstairs hallway (rolling my eyes at something on the radio, probably). And I noticed a bulge. A downwards bulge, like the kind of bubble you get in bad paintwork, only bigger. I had a book in my hand, so I very gently poked the bulge. It gave gracefully, and when I'd finished poking at it, it smoothly rebulged.
I looked at the floor. Was that a tiny damp patch on the carpet? Aiee! I took a towel from the hotwater cupboard (coincidentally right under the bulge) and tossed it on the suspect spot. Who knows what I'll find when I get home. But I'll be phoning a plumber in the morning - right after I've climbed up into the loft to investigate.
My best guess is that the header tank or its piping is leaking and that there's a big puddle up there, with its deepest point over the bulge. I might even be able to mend it myself, with some gaffer tape!
I looked at the floor. Was that a tiny damp patch on the carpet? Aiee! I took a towel from the hotwater cupboard (coincidentally right under the bulge) and tossed it on the suspect spot. Who knows what I'll find when I get home. But I'll be phoning a plumber in the morning - right after I've climbed up into the loft to investigate.
My best guess is that the header tank or its piping is leaking and that there's a big puddle up there, with its deepest point over the bulge. I might even be able to mend it myself, with some gaffer tape!
28 October 2005
:: all DAP-ed out
For the past week I've been treating Bertie with DAP - Dog Appeasement Pheromone - to help him with fireworks anxiety. He is now so thoroughly appeased he can't be bothered to get out of bed in the morning. He sets out on the morning walk at a gentle waddle rather than his usual eager trot. After I got home from work last night he had to be woken up for his late-night wander; usually he's pestering me to go walkies - it's his main chip-scavenging run. Today he strolled past a group of squealing teenagers with barely a glance. He's dozy and dopey and right now he's completely joed out in the livingroom.
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