LVT FLOOR LAID

Britons may be totally unprepared for extremes of weather but thankfully flooring fitters are not.

Tapi’s fitter made short work of laying LVT planks in the corridor.

Getting round all the fiddly bits

Long planks flowing down from the door

There is now a lovely wood-like river flowing from front door to loo which sets off the wall panelling nicely.

River of LVT

LVT is going to be a far more practical alternative to that awful red carpet as it’ll make it easier to sweep up the avalanche of cat litter scatter-gunned everywhere by Bertie after a visit to his loo.

Good job humans don’t do the same thing every time we visit the toilet. Imagine what it would be like if we’d flung bits of used loo roll all over the floor after every number 1 or 2. Yuck!!! Not going to mentally go there!

In the ideal world, I’d have loved an engineered wood floor or a nice bit of parquet. More’s the pity that the previous owners of this house hadn’t put in parquet then covered it up with carpet as some people did back then as that would have been a fantastic surprise when I ripped out the old flooring. But no. Lack of taste or pennies or both, we’ll never know.

Just got to find a new coir mat to throw down next to the front door then I can declare this project officially finished – for now.

Looks lovely with wall panelling

A great improvement on the old

THE NEED FOR SCREED

‘Better poo at work as this floor’s taking ages to dry’ - the last text I sent to the other half from my joyless prison.

Seems like I’ve picked the hottest day of the year to get the fitters in to screed the bare corridor floor in preparation for LVT laying. My penance - spending the next 3-4 hours stuck in a hot, airless lounge with only a bucket to pee in.

BEFORE - bare floor ready to screed

Fiddly area to do

The poor bewildered moggy is probably wondering what he’s done to deserve being locked away in the bedroom where it is even hotter than downstairs. Poor Bertie. I’ll make it up to you later with some extra treats and belly rubs. He’s got a clean litter tray, large bowl of grub and a gallon of water so before any of you ring the RSPCA, I can assure you no cats were harmed in the making of this floor.

Meanwhile, stuck in the lounge with a bottle of chilled water and builder’s bucket in temperatures you could boil an egg in, my t-shirt has now collected enough sweat to water the veggies later on.

No good complaining, it’s gotta be done. I may have gotten away with screeding the floor of the downstairs loo but that was the size of a large postage stamp. This corridor is far too long and dog-legged to repeat the procedure especially since there are four doorways and the foot of the stairs to factor in. Leave it to the professionals, I say.

Screeding round the foot of the stairs

Several hours and half a dozen episodes of ‘Harlots’ later, the screed has slowly transformed from a shiny ice rink to a light grey haven of solidity, enabling access to both loo and kitchen. Hurrah!

Freshly poured screed

Smooth and shiny

What’s more, the smooth unblemished surface is deliciously cold so excuse me whilst I strip down to my kecks and go starfish on it but first of all, I’d best let the cat out.

Four hours later - all dried out

Lovely cold surface to walk on

SOILED AGAIN!

Home, sweet home.

As much as I love spending time with my aged folks, I’m always pleased to get back on home turf away from the stink of urine splattered dressing gowns or endless meals of boiled potatoes and green beans. Such is the glamour of an octogenarian menu; they pretty much eat the same things every single day so it’s no wonder they suffer from vitamin deficiencies.

By all accounts, I’m back in the nick of time as the Met Office is predicting another ‘heatwave’. It’s curious that what designates a heatwave in the UK changes almost as much as a prime minister. Last year, it was temperatures over 30 degrees for 3 days in a row. This year, that classification has dropped to anything from 25 to 28 degrees for 3 days in a row.

Abroad, anything from 25 to 28 degrees is usually classed as ‘summer’ and not a heatwave but in belt-and-braces Britain, anything hotter than a cheese toastie spells trouble.

Can ‘heatwaves’ be confined to a specific UK region? I always thought that the term ‘heatwave’ would be a weather phenomena like an electric blanket that applies heat across a whole nation rather than to just tiny parts. But hey, I’m no meteorologist so what I know about this stuff could fit on the back of a fag packet.

Looking out of the window, it’s hard to figure out when this forecast heatwave is due to materialise. Today’s lack-lustre cloudy skies cannot be described as anything other than dreary rather than tropical. The only giveaway is the oppressive humidity that leaves you sweat-soaked if you so much as bat an eyelid.

This heat is exhausting!

Aside from one or two sunny spells, June has been largely disappointing to say the least but by all accounts, we’re now on red alert for tomorrow and Thursday. Crawl into a cool, dark cave and stay there. Only come out at night – that’s my plan of action.

Rain would not be very welcome on a day when I’ve had a super-sized dumpy bag of top soil delivered. Last thing I need is a squelchy dirt cowpat of elephantine proportions to barrow from driveway to garden.

Bag of soil anyone?

With indoor DIY projects at a standstill, I’ve turned my attention to the back garden. There’s a scruffy looking spot in front of the RNLI themed shed and under a lilac tree that could do with a bit of a primp.

Could this vista be improved?

Whilst ‘nanny sitting’, the other half kindly rustled up a narrow sleeper bed in front of the shed:

New sleeper bed in front of shed

And a zig-zag sleeper border to neaten the area under the tree.

Looks tidier already

Once filled with top soil and leaf mulch, I can then plant up these spots with either more strawberry plants or flowers to make the most of this extra growing space.

Ready to fill with top soil

I fancy a nice climbing rose to trail up and around the shed window. I’m hoping this might soften its appearance when looking at it from the lawn.

Now all that’s left for me to do is make this huge bag of soil disappear rather like the Labour Party have finally done to Out-on-his-ear Kier. So long, Starmer and hello Burnham.

Out with the old and in with the new

He’s got about 3 years before the next general election to turn this nation’s silk purse into a sow’s ear because unless he rips up the rule book to start again, he’s just going to be hampered by the same political and financial constraints that strait-jackets everyone in the prime ministerial hot seat. Good luck to you, mate.

To end on a more positive note, I may not have managed to get hold of tickets for Muse but I did enjoy a fantastic trip down memory lane going to the Foreigner gig at Wembley Arena. What an amazing show!

Foreigner - still awesome after 50 years

NOT A-MUSE-D

It’s 9.55 am. I’m sat in my nightie in front of a screen waiting for ticket pre-sales to open for Muse – The Wow! Signal gig taking place at the O2 London in November.

Muse World Tour 2026

If I didn’t know better, I’d think Muse had named this tour after the mobile phone situation in Chichester as that’s what most people exclaim in the town centre if they miraculously manage to obtain a signal. Wow!

I’ve done bugger all other than watch and wait. ‘Not now cat’ I shout at the needy mog who is clamouring for a bit of fussing; I’ve got other more pressing things to attend to.

Almost there

There’s now a minute to go. My buttocks are clenched with excitement, stomach’s churning like a banned tumble drier, credit card poised ready for the online starter pistol to signal that the race for tickets is on.

OMG!  So many people in front

Aha! The cyber queue finally opens. There are 163 invisible, nerve-wracked, PJ clad, sweaty fingered peeps in front of me all sat in front of their devices chomping at the bit. It’s been a while since Muse toured the UK so ticket demand for this gig’s going to be colossal.

Unlike the queue at our local post office, this one eats through 163 fans at a rate of knots. Burp! It is not long before I find myself at the front, only 1 cyber peep left ahead of me.

The venue map opens. There are many pockets of blue left so seat availability appears good. Except it isn’t. What I’m looking at is a sea of rapidly shifting quicksand. The £79 seats I’d clicked on have evaporated into thin air before reaching the basket.

In seconds, the cheapest seats have gone from £79 to £147 so I’m guessing that menace called Dynamic Pricing is in force. This is now the scourge of all music fans. Fanning the flames of corporate greed by forcing us all to pay over the odds for tickets to events. This preys upon a fan’s fear of missing out and operates on the premise that those keen enough to want to go are willing to pay anything to be there.

Come on Muse.  Dynamic pricing, really?  How can you sing about fat cats having heart attacks because we're rebelling against their control then allow these very same fat cats to shamelessly rinse devoted followers with these evil algorithms?  Strikes me as being a tad hypocritical.

Artists really need to put their feet down to stamp out this practice if they don’t want to alienate fans especially for those that would struggle even to find £79 for a seat. ‘Lack of single/album sales’ bellows the other half down his mobile phone (hands free) as he motors on to Winchester to deliver toilet seats to customers too lazy to collect.

Is this situation really the result of internet streaming and the demise of the 7” single? Record sales were once a big revenue stream for bands but since everyone now expects to hear it for free on some streaming platform then the buggers are having to find new ways to make up for lost income.

As someone who has been a frequent flyer to gigs, festivals or other live music events for decades, dynamic pricing is an evil that needs to be vanquished and pretty quickly. If a ticket has a face value of £79 then that’s what all fans should pay regardless of their position in the cyber queue, personal wealth or their desire to see a particular artist.

An hour has passed. I’m ticketless. The Live Nation pre-sale has been one humungous waste of time and put me in a mood so foul that I’m now going to take it out on the garden before the forecast ‘heatwave’ hits Chichester.

Look out flower beds, I’m coming for you!