I tell you what, there’s nothing like living in the ‘van for being at one with nature. Surprisingly, when I refer to wind, I’m not talking the flatulence variety, but the gales that blew round our aluminium abode some time during the night. Mother of Chuffing God, it was like something out of Twister – the director’s cut, but without the flying cow. Foolishly, I’d forgotten to put the padlock on the Turdis before going to bed (not to stop anyone using it, there’s no-one out here) but to stop the door banging, should the wind get up. Suffice to say, sometime in the early hours, the wind got up and gave all four of us (that’s me, Rich, Taggart and Badger) a collective hearty.
The Turdis is basically positioned about 30mm from our heads through the wall. At five in the morning, it sounded like a grenade going off about three inches from our faces. Not that I’ve ever heard a grenade going off, but I have an imagination – if I didn’t, we wouldn’t be in this predicament in the first place. Then the rain started lashing down or, rather, horizontally, against the same wall. Mr T, usually fierce, dived under the covers, Badger sat whimpering on my head and Richard volunteered for me to go out, in the driving wind and rain, and put the padlock on the door. I asked him if he was joking. He wasn’t, ‘You were the last one in there, Em’. So muggins here dived out the door, in a pair of slippers (not the gold ones, they’re going to be cemented into the hearth), and fixed the problem.
Blanket back on at number 6 and we tried to get back to sleep. Until Rich said ‘At least we won’t have the shit hitting the van now.’ Much giggling and laughter until the day came up. He’s a funny guy my husband, that’s why I married him.
Oh, of course, I forgot, the luvvies came to film the ‘half way through’ bit, although I like to think we’re more than half way through. Difficult to second guess whether presenter Simon actually liked it but we think he did, he said all the right things and admired the stonework and thatch, but you know these thespian types, acting is their profession, afterall. The bad news is that we had to wear those stupid hard hats – apparently, if people don’t wear them on the show, they get loads of people writing to complain about health and safety. What freaks, haven’t they got better things to do?
At the danger of sounding like a broken record, the house is looking (altogether now) utterly brilliant 😉 Like, I was beginning to think that surely it can’t get any better, but at the risk of sounding like a smug arse, it is. Glory Job Bob (or Brett) has done a superb job of the plastering. Like properly superb. He maintains that it’s the plasterers that make a house, DependaPaul doesn’t even answer that one, just gives him a look.
By the end of tomorrow, the living room will be plastered, the fascia boards will be up in preparation for the hideously expensive copper guttering that’ll probably be nicked within three days of it being installed, I’ll have started the priming in our bedroom/dressing room combo and, you never know, Stu might have even got back on the roof and started getting round to finishing it. And Brett’s little piggy toaster might even fly 😉