LIFE IN THE SLOW LANE

Back in February when early retirement was still a nebulous dream, I had a plan – a list of activities to rush off and do once I was no longer shackled to an office desk. It looked something like this:

Complete wall panelling downstairs
Rip up old corridor carpet for replacement flooring
Take up wild water swimming
Consider joining the local WI group
Dig large hole in garden for a pond
Finish itinerary for a trip to east coast of Australia
Do more volunteering
Buy a sketch book and have an art attack
Climb Snowdonia
Gardening, gardening and more gardening
Sign up for those free local council Heart Smart walks

But in the 6 months since I left work, I’m beginning to realise that the pace of life in retirement is not what it once was. Somehow, I’ve subconsciously shifted out of 5^th gear and moved across into the crawler lane like all those other old tabbies behind the wheel who drive like they have all the time in the world.  Retirement is definitely more milk float than Ferrari.

Procrastination rules and that’s not always a good thing. It now takes me at least 3-4 weeks to get round to doing things which before I would have raced round to cram into an afternoon. Time has developed a gooey fluid quality, flowing like a lazy river through the jungle of my life.

So, I’ve finished the panelling, flooring and have started on the garden but as for the rest of the list? Well, there’s plenty of time to get round to considering it.

The problem with having all day to do stuff is it’s easy to get distracted. Take today for example. I should be touching up the bottom of the architraves in the corridor. I’ve had this task on my ‘To Do’ list for at least 3 months, yet some unseen force prevents me from picking up a paint brush. Instead, I’m blogging, baking, or painting pebbles. Basically, doing random shit except that which is important because that’s what being time rich is all about. Filling your day. With pleasurable, enjoyable fun stuff to while away the hours.

I need painting

In true procrastinator fashion, tasks left undone are transferred across to tomorrow’s ‘To Do’ list. Trouble is, I’m moving over the same things almost daily and never ticking them off. Hopelessly idle. Can’t be helped but more likely can’t be arsed. I’m retired so every day’s a weekend. At some point, I will get off my lazy arse to finish the architraves but for now, I’m off to pick the last of my ripened tomatoes in my nightie before I head off for a shower.

Last of the ripening tomatoes

OMG! CLADDING FINISHED

Not a cloud on the horizon. Today’s forecast is perfect for cladding – not too hot, not too wet and not too windy. Sweet.

The sound of builder’s beavering away outside is music to my ears. I’m hopeful that today could be the day when this cladding project is finally finished but I’m tempering my enthusiasm by buggering off for a spot of tai chi to release all that pent up negative no-cladding energy. I want to see real progress by the time I get back I tell myself as I swan off up the road in tight-fitting leggings in this glorious October sunshine.

I’ve deliberately dawdled home so as not to give the impression that I’ve been all that bothered by the shenanigans of these procrastinating peeps when in fact, I’m desperate to see what they’ve been up to.

Cor! Looks like they’ve pulled out all the stops. The cladding now reaches the apex, covering every inch of wall space. Nice. In addition, a strip of trim is covering all those awful uneven board edges so everything has a tidy finish.

The cladding tide has finally come in

All that’s left to do is fit the last bit of soil pipe, refix the front guttering, clear all the rubbish off site and job’s a good ‘un. 

Soil stack completed

Bedroom window frame neatly trimmed in white

Begone lawn killer!

Was I a bit too hasty in meting out imaginary punishments before any real crime had been committed? Let’s just say I won’t be sending this lot any return invitations for afternoon tea although when all is said and done, they've done a fabulous job sprucing up this tired old wall.  You could almost say it was worth waiting for ...

As for my impatience, I’m laying the blame firmly at the door of my Spanish heritage.

Planters returned to the alleyway

PAYING EXTRA TAX VOLUNTARILY

There’s been a slew of celebrities in the media recently volunteering to pay extra taxes to help the nation. Michael Palin being the last person to publicly express this desire. Clap. Clap. Clap. I applaud these noble sentiments. If you’ve got a few extra thousand quid sloshing about then why not give it to the Tax Man? Fool!

However, since there is no mechanism in place for tax revenue to be paid into Treasury coffers that isn’t actually due then I have a better suggestion to make and that is, give this cash to deserving causes that can put the funds directly into good use.

Do you really trust the Government or The Revenue to actually spend your money wisely? I mean you’ve only got to look at what they spend our taxes on now such as continually giving it to the French to fund their beach inactivity, paying it to wind farms to switch off because the grid lacks the necessary cabling to cope with all that extra power or paying for the unemployed to have nice days out at theme parks. Not much of a philanthropic return on your tax investment in UK PLC is it?

But if you were to donate a sizeable sum of money to a charity of your choice then not only would you probably mitigate some of your own personal tax bill but the funds could be put to immediate use. No doubt there are many local good causes crying out for a chunk of money to fund things that would have a beneficial impact on a community. Michael, just ask your friends, neighbours or your PA to recommend one near you then sponsor it.

Better still, give the money to a local hospice. We might all end up needing their end-of-life care services especially now that the Assisted Dying Bill has been well and truly scuppered. Hospices are known to be under-funded and many may have established means for taking in philanthropic bequests or donations. Giving your surplus cash to these selfless institutions so that folks can be properly looked after in their final days is far more of a noble act than just handing the dosh over to HMRC.

I prefer the Michael Sheen style of philanthropy, buying up the debts of ordinary people then cancelling them entirely thus liberating them from the capitalist enslavement of financial institutions. Definitely the right idea in my book.

So, if there are any other celebs out there with money burning a hole in their pocket who want to give something back to the country then act locally rather than nationally. Do not volunteer to pay extra taxes – no-one in their right mind would EVER want to do that!

AND STILL NO END IN SIGHT

I’m on the verge of ‘bumping’ off these builders. Killing them stone dead with a ‘Right. You’re off the job’ missile.

As expected, a damp squall has blown in from the West. It’s radio silence from the errant trades. Not a peep. No apology for non-appearance. Nothing. Just the sound of a frustrated tattoo being smashed out on my laptop, keyboard glowing hot, the air blue with expletives. I don’t dare ring the builder for fear of unleashing a verbal kraken. Instead, I sit stewing, scowling out the window at the pitiful spotty raindrops.

Eventually, gathering every ounce of self-composure I can muster, I text. Polite. Respectful. No capitals. No ‘where the f*** are you?’ but a more restrained ‘I guess you’re not coming today?’ My tooth-gritting restraint must have travelled down the phone line eliciting a whiny response about working at height in windy weather. Be there tomorrow. Yeah? I’ve heard that one before.

Fast forward to lunch - tasty snackette of marmalade slathered crispbreads topped with hard-boiled egg. (Weirdo!). The doorbell rings. ‘What now?’ I mutter rudely with a gob full of half-chewed food. Hastily swallowed, I brush off my crumbed chest with a few aerobic sweeps then head for the front door. ‘Hello. You must be the abseiling plumber, licensed to scale scaffolding in a force 5. Come on in.’

No doubt a peace offering from Vlad who must have realised by now that although I may be small, inoffensive looking and make a good cuppa, I’m strictly a ‘no-nonsense’ type of gal. My pipework now beautifully teed in to the main soil waste pipe, let’s hope these peeps keep their promises to finish this cladding tomorrow.

From this

To this

Handbasin & shower overflows tee'd in to main soil stack

FLYING KITES

There’s less than a month to go to the dreaded Budget and one thing that’s noticeably absent from the tabloids this year is kites.

Flying kites. The deliberate leaking of information by the Treasury to gauge public opinion on any policy changes they may be weighing up. You didn’t really think this stuff gets into the media because some inattentive numpty accidently hit the ‘enter’ key? Nope. The Treasury knowingly lets one slip out then sits back to wait and see exactly how the public might react to whatever hellish stink has polluted the atmosphere.

This time last year the papers were full of kites but this year there seems to have been little to excite the masses into a righteous pre-budget froth. It’s worrying. It’s generally known that the quiet ones are the worst but this parliamentary silence is probably more unsettling than loads of scurrilous front-page rumours.

I imagine that Horrible Healy is playing his cards very close to his chest for his first budget because he is unlikely to be delivering any pleasant early Christmas presents. We’re all on the naughty list although if he gave everyone a lump of coal at least it may go some way to reducing energy bills. (Price cap rumoured to increase somewhere between 16% to 24% in January 2027).

The best way to deliver bad tidings is unexpectedly then people have limited or no time to react to the news.

Too many rumoured tax increases are going to send more rich folks running for those tax-haven hills, a scenario the Government are keen to avoid at all costs particularly as they’ve lined up all their ducks to further tax that super-wealthy one percent. Naturally, if there are no rich poshos left to tax then the spotlight is going to shift firmly on us ordinary peeps.

In the same way that gardeners are tending the flower borders, preparing them for that long winter sleep, we too should be weeding through our personal finances now getting them combat-ready for any fight, flight or freeze responses to whatever the Treasury has to throw at us.

I’ve already withdrawn a chunk of private pension to max out my cash ISA in case the Chancellor cuts the savings thresholds even further or increases the basic rate of income tax or savers tax. I’d rather take a 20% hit now but be ready to take advantage of any base rate rises coming after the budget. If he does increase income tax rates imagine the mad financial scramble of lemmings trying to avoid the taxation cliff edge before next April.

Don’t forget that cash ISA savings thresholds are only at £20,000 until next April after which it will drop down to £12,000 for anyone that is under 65 years old. Since cash ISA accounts are pretty much the only legitimate way for savers to shelter money from the tax man in the UK then it makes sense to squirrel away as much of your hard-earned dosh into them because my gut feel is that eventually in the dim and distant future, cash ISAs may be phased out thus forcing anyone building up a sizeable nest egg to pay savers tax.

It’s important to remember that some kites may fly but never actually get off the ground so always exercise due diligence before making any hasty financial decisions. Crunch those numbers. Ask AI. Flip a coin. Stick a finger in the air. Just be ready to act when the curtain falls on 28 October. In the meantime, keep looking out for those kites.

STILL WAITING

Hindsight is a wonderful thing. There’s definitely scope for AI to be put to good use to invent crystal balls that allow punters to see the outcome of decisions made. A ‘sliding doors’ soothsayer ball.

Now if I’d had one of these future-predicting spheres at the point when I reviewed all cladding quotes then I might not be in this standstill situation because my magical globe would have pin-pointed this scenario exactly and I would have chosen to go with another builder. No farting about waiting to see when my project might resume.

I’ve come to the conclusion that Vlad the Clad is either a complete incompetent monkey or has memory retention issues. Either way, it’s clear that he is NOT a man of his word. The last text message received promised a return visit on Tuesday with plumber in tow.

So, when I advised him that the additional cement boards had been delivered on Monday afternoon, I was not expecting a reply as follows:

Ohhh blimey. I was told it was coming Wednesday afternoon. I’m on another job now but definitely be there Thursday to finish the job.

Right. You promised you’d be back Tuesday and once again, I’ve been bumped for another job. Bumped. Twice. Not once – TWO times!!!!!! If you’d been told the boards weren’t coming until Wednesday afternoon then why did you tell me you’d be back on Tuesday? Agreed, you hadn’t specified which Tuesday on your text but I had naturally assumed it would be the next one on the calendar.

Aaahh, now I get it. Another job. That’s why you didn’t come back to screw in the last remaining bits of timber for the cladding framework or clear all the debris from my garden which you could easily have done on the Friday whilst you were waiting for extra boards to arrive. If I had been doing this job myself that’s exactly what I would have done during down time. But no.

The grass of my lawn should have been regenerating in the cooler damper days we’ve recently had but instead is suffocating under a mountain of builder ‘tut’ currently cluttering the back garden. I have the world’s supply of wall pots to screw back into position once you lot have buggered off so that I can prepare these for next year’s planting.

Clearly you don’t seem to realise that every day of delay is yet another day that I can’t get on with these tasks which really need to be done before winter or the monsoon season sets in.

Which brings me right back to thinking about project delay penalties. Now that I have the materials on site, could I employ someone else to finish this job then pay Vlad proportionally for work he completed? Under consumer legislation what are my rights in such a scenario?

It doesn’t help that Thursday’s forecast is potentially a rainy one providing yet another excuse for further delay but my patience is now wearing very thin. Thinner than a sheet of bog paper. And when patience is thin, a volcanic eruption usually follows. I want my project finished by end of October max and God help you if it isn’t!

STANDSTILL

Seriously, I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried. Lord knows I have a very fertile imagination but this really does take the biscuit!

Day three of cladding and there’s still no end in sight. Good progress made today, the cladding tide now topping the bedroom window yet a long way off from reaching the apex.

Cladding has now reached bedroom window

Rewind a few hours. There’s been a steady stream of foot traffic to the downstairs loo. Either these peeps have dodgy prostrates or they can’t help but come in to admire my funky cloakroom décor. Still, it does beg the question – how do builders manage on jobs where no loo access is provided? Bucket in the back of the van?

It doesn’t help that I’m sat here clacking away on my laptop within earshot from the loo. If you tinkle, sprinkle, play a tune on your trouser trumpet or use my toilet as a telephone box then yes, I can hear everything. And I mean everything. Every little droplet hitting the pan because the one thing I didn’t include in my cloakroom refurb was music-studio grade sound proofing.

I can especially hear loud conversations to builder’s merchants pleading for extra cement fibre boards to be delivered urgently because you’ve under-estimated the amount needed for this job. And I can detect from the frustration in your voice that these are either out of stock or that further supplies are unlikely to be delivered today which means there’s a high probability that you guys won’t be back tomorrow.

Whoops!  Not enough cement fibre boards

Should have put a fiver on it. Not a dickie bird mention of this situation to me whilst on site. Ping! Is that the sound of a text message arriving? Yep, you guessed. Project at a standstill yet again, return date estimated as being next week.

If only customers could include delay penalties on trade quotes where a daily charge is deducted for every lost day of productivity because at this rate, I’d be getting this job done for free. Oh well, better late than never.

Nice and neat round the window

CLADDING CONTINUES

It’s day two of the cladathon. As nice as these guys are, I am seriously beginning to wonder about their cladding credentials.

My expertise in these matters may be zilch but I’m sure you don’t cut cement fibre boards with a jigsaw. The clue’s in the name, Numbnuts. Cement. If I was cutting those boards myself, I’d probably be using an angle grinder or circular saw with a nice sharp diamond blade. It’s no wonder progress is slow. I keep schtum as I hand over the tea tray.

And whose clever idea was it to send a 16 year-old lad to smash an asbestos soil pipe into pieces in the middle of my slowly recovering lawn without so much as a stitch of protective clothing or a tarpaulin to catch any of the debris? Really?

Our surveyor repeatedly warned us NOT to scrape, drill or crack the pipe because any kind of damage releases the hazardous toxic material for which asbestos is much maligned yet Vlad seems happy to sign a death-warrant on his pimply apprentice and contaminate my garden without a care in the world. Any considerations of potential human or environmental impact clearly missing from builder brain.

Slowly recovering lawn cluttered again

I shake my head in disbelief and go back to my knitting. Mutter, mutter, mutter. Don’t worry, as soon as you lot have buggered off, I shall be out in my hazmat gear to pick up every single little bitty piece of piping and black paint flakes, I tell myself. If I had a grass hoover, I’d vacuum the lawn just to make sure every particle of A-dust is gone.

After a second labouring day, the cladding tide has only just reached the spare room window. According to Dr Google, cladding the apex on a house takes on average one day making the productive output of these dudes look like that of a sausage dog.

Cladding tide continues to come in slowly

Has reached the window on one side

Hope you're doing something to hide those ragged edges

Back in the workplace, I’d have said this looks like a clear-cut case of ‘stringing it out.’ Perhaps this is how some trades justify charging extortionate prices for this type of work by billing you for the week instead of for a couple of days then working at a leisurely snail’s pace instead of cracking on.

VLAD THE CLAD

Bumped. How dare you!

Whilst I appreciate builders can’t control the vagaries of the English weather or be expected to expose themselves to sunstroke in temperatures that make San Tropez feel a bit nippy, I was not best pleased to be told weeks ago that my job was being sidelined in favour of a more lucrative indoor project. But such is the reality of employing external trades. If a better paying offer comes along then expect your job to go to the back of the line.

After weeks of waiting, Vlad the Clad is back with his band of merry men to finish what they started months ago – cladding the exterior side wall of the house.

‘Really appreciate you letting us do that other woman’s job first’ said Vlad, disarming me with a cheeky chappy Jack-the-lad smile in a face browner and crinklier than a sultana. Hmmphh! Didn’t really have a choice in the matter, did I? Simple builder economics. Her £6,000 job trumped mine and provided shade so muggins here just had to suck it up.

But they’re here now, ladder and towers in tow, turning the front drive into a makeshift cladding workshop whilst I pop the kettle on for periodic refreshments. And yes, stereotypically they do drink their tea ‘builders’ – that is strong and sweet.

Just make yourselves at home

Is that singing I can hear? Sounds like they’re having way too much fun out there. Too many tenors, not enough cladding. You better hope I don’t find any defects or you’ll be singing a different tune when I fail to pay my bill in full.

Whole lotta nothing going on

It’s now 3 o’clock. Vlad and his crew have mysteriously vanished without so much as a goodbye. Probably seeking shelter from the sun’s rays so they don’t turn into a pile of ash. When I’ve established the coast is clear, I venture out to check on progress.

What the ….? Three of them spent an entire day faffing about outside, crooning to Shite Radio and all there is to show for their industriousness (or lack of) is a strip of metal trim and a couple of rows of cement fibre board nailed into place. Exactly what am I paying for here?

Metal ventilation trim

All in a day's work

Hours later, a text pings into my inbox. Guess who? Yep, job is being bumped yet again as now rain is on the forecast. Seriously?  Grrrr!!!!

BUTT MANIA CURED

Just look at these two beauties. 

They’re everything I could hope for in a water butt – strong, sleek, a pair of dark sentinels standing guard in the back border. Wow!

Cor blimey, they're huge!

Carping the diem this weekend starting with these stratas. No good having loads of water butts unless they’re connected up to the guttering so stop farting about as it’s time to get them into their new home.

There’s not a great deal of space to work in back here plus access is impeded by a few existing shrubs. Going to have to dig up the hibiscus first before we can do anything else. Amuse yourselves for a few minutes.

You'll never squeeze those into that jungle

Several sweaty minutes later… It’s all about the base. Butts need a nice stable spot on which to place the plastic stand they sit on. Somewhere they won’t rock about once full of water and where you can access the tap. Having levelled off the dirt at the back of the border, I’ve made a butt platform using some chunky old planks dumped behind the shed.

Make a nice level platform 

Pruners please. A bit of emergency bush surgery is needed to clear back the undergrowth as gap between fence and shrubbery is still not quite wide enough for my own lard arse let alone a large water butt. There! That’s done it. Now I can get the stands in place.

Stands fit perfectly

With both stands in situ, next step is to prepare the butts for linking. To connect three butts together, you need 2 connection kits. (£11 each at B&Q if you can’t wait for an online delivery). Each kit contains a length of hose plus a couple of adapters, washers and nuts. (I don’t mean us either!).

Water butt connecting kit

Using a hex shank drill bit or a router, make a couple of holes large enough for the adapters in the specially indented circles on each side of the water butt. Push the adapters with washers attached into each hole then tighten into position by winding the plastic nut onto the thread from inside the butt.

Circular indentations to drill adapter holes

Now the adapters are in, place butts onto stands making sure the sides with the adapters are facing each other and you can get to the tap. Lifting one of these beasties over the garden greenery is certainly not the easiest of jobs in a space smaller than the defence budget. Good job I've had my three shredded wheat.

Tricky to lift over greenery

Once you are happy with your butt position, push the hoses onto each adapter. We have lift off. We’re gonna do the butt conga. Oooh. aaahh. Seven hundred litres of rain capture capacity. Get in!

All linked up

All I need is love and rain. Lots and lots of the lovely wet stuff so I can corner the garden water market. Butt mania cured – for now.

BUTT MANIA

Since the heatwave I’ve been dreaming of butts. Large butts, small butts, perfectly formed butts, space saver butts. Cute builder butts. Okay, not those but essentially dreaming of any kind of large receptacle in which to capture rain water. I’d even go as far as calling it an obsession.

Dry weather has naturally pushed up the price of butts because now everyone’s realised how bad the effects of a prolonged droughty summer were on all things green then demand for rainwater tanks, butts, buckets or anything else designed to hold lots of the wet stuff is now greater than ever. Even the grandson’s paddling pool has been conscripted for rain capture.

Lots of rain captured in one of these

I already have 2 water butts plus an oversized water collecting tank in the garden but this barely touched the sides during the summer scorcher. Be prepared is my motto. It’s not for nothing that I have a Domesday cupboard just in case the four horsemen of the apocalypse unexpectedly drop in for tea.

A quick consultation with Dr Google on my butt fixation. Diagnosis – expensive. For £130 there’s a magnificent 350 litre beauty called a Harcostar Magnum. Wow! What a whopper but perhaps a bit too large for the space I have in mind. There are more budget friendly options out there such as a 227 litre Harcostar (£70) or a smaller 210 litre cheapo butt (£59) available from Amazon.

Harcostar Magnum - nice butt!

Of course, the big question is how much do I really want to spend to cure butt mania? Naturally, my answer is I want the biggest capacity for the least capital outlay. The butt that appears to meet these requirements is a Strata 250 litre water butt. Spacious, reasonably priced and not so monstrously sized that it can’t be squeezed in somewhere. Rather than being short and squat, it’s tall and slim.

Strata 250 litres - come to mama

I have a perfect little ‘butt hole’ in the back border where I hope to conceal a couple of these Stratas behind a few manicured shrubs. The plan is to link the two new butts to the existing one which is connected to the shed guttering. It never ceases to amaze me just how much water can be collected from a shed roof during a downpour.

The perfect 'butt hole' at the back of the garden

It’s not for nothing that we work in a builder’s merchants – staff discount. Handy little perk when it comes to DIY shopping as I can now really push the butt boat out without needing to sign over my soul to Satan.

I’ve packed the other half off with an envelope stuffed full of tenners and strict instructions not to return home empty handed. Basically – it’s butts or else!

CARE IN THE COMMUNITY

‘Quick! I’m bleeding to death’ I shout at the Ancient Mariner as between the pair of us we grapple with the intricacies of learning how to execute finger prick testing on my poor befuddled diabetic mother.

This crash course in DIY medicine is the result of the NHS’s drive to push care out to the community resulting from the GP surgery deciding to withdraw mum’s daily insulin injection. Going forward, the expectation of the health service is that WE will all be actively responsible for managing our own care hence self-administration of treatments.

In the 12 months that mum’s been taking insulin, it seems her blood sugar levels have now gone south and are considered too low.

‘We have to balance the risk of falls to the risk of blindness’ chirped the Diabetic Nurse with a crocodile smile on her face designed to disarm even the grumpiest or more cynical of patients.  Okay, so our choices are a potential bump on the head or a guide dog?  I sat there poker-faced wondering if this was all part of health service cost cutting and making a mental note to consult the crap out of Dr Google as soon as we got home.

With no daily injections to administer, services such as finger prick testing previously provided by the District Nursing Team are also being withdrawn as it’s the NHS’s belief that so long as there is another person with 2 arms/2 legs living in the property with the patient then it’s down to them to take on the burden of carrying out any treatment. Carer’s age or capability to do so being totally ignored by the system.

Finger prick testing – well how hard can it be? I’ve seen the nurses do it. Just like using a small stapler on your finger tip. Squeeze out a drop of the red stuff then use the hand-held gizmo to suck it up in order to obtain a blood sugar level reading. Piece of piss. Yeah, I’m sure my DIY skills are perfectly transferrable for this type of task.

Except that it’s not quite that simple, is it? Nothing ever is. For starters, the Ancient Mariner has huge sausage-like fingers, the bedside manner of a serial killer and is 91 years old so you can hardly expect him to do this on a daily basis. Add to the mix that I hate needles or the sight of blood and between us we’re a nurse that’s more Hannibal Lecter than Florence Nightingale.

I volunteered a digit to experiment on. Nurses use small plastic clicky things called Unistik 3 comfort lancets to prick fingers. These lilac-coloured lancets are about an inch and a half long with a white plastic tab at one end. I studied the instructions on the side of the box. Twist white tab, remove it then press end to the finger and click. Easy. Nothing to it. Like frying an egg.

Unistik 3 comfort lancet

Four destroyed lancets later, the end of my finger still intact. Not a single drop of blood spilt. Time to call upon the services of Dr YouTube. And of course, there is a movie showing you exactly how to use these gadgets because what the instructions had failed to mention for the benefit of village idiots like myself is which end contained the needle. Ah, it was hiding under the white tab all along. Duh!

Next, pump up the Nexus blood sugar testing machine. A small hand-held monitor that talks to you. Not programmed to tell you what a cack-handed numpty you’re being but designed to verbally guide you through the process. Perfect for visually impaired patients/nurses but not deaf ones like father.

Nexus Voice Blood Sugar Testing Machine

Take a testing strip about an inch long then stick it into the slot. Great, it’s got arrows on the end you stick into the machine. Less chance of getting that wrong.

Test strips to hoover up blood sample

Prick finger then squeeze out a decent sized blob of blood. Do this before turning on the machine as it then minimises the risk of errors with the readings.

Turn on the machine, listen to the opening intro then when it tells you, poke the end of the testing strip into the droplet of blood. Ooooh, look. It magically hoovers up a miniscule sample of the stuff to test and within seconds, the screen displays your blood sugar levels reading them out too. Marvellous!

Now to repeat this process on mother who has been watching our antics for the past half hour with a look of apprehensive dread. After a democratic vote, it’s decided that I will wield the stapler and the Ancient Mariner the blood hoover. Teamwork makes the dream work.

We pounce upon mother before she has the chance to gather her wits about her. Yay! We’ve done it. The patient survived. We have blood sugar readings. 8.8 not bad. Pat on the back.

Care in the Community – getting clueless numpties to execute tasks that were previously done by the health service on other poor numpties.

Be prepared because under the NHS's new 10 Year Health Plan in the years to come, you too will be expected to become your own district nurse.

REPLACEMENT ASBESTOS SOIL STACK

If I had a tenner for every inch of asbestos used in the construction of this house, I’d be a darned sight richer than I will be after this project’s finished.

Ugh! Asbestos. It’s the bane of everyone’s DIY life. Can’t drill it, scrape it, cut it, sand it or do anything to it other than look at it. If the sort you have is ultra-toxic then apply for a second mortgage if you want to replace it with anything safer. You’re stuck with this bugger for life.

The exterior soil stack pipe was flagged on our survey as being made of the dreaded ‘A’, the norm in properties built around the late fifties/early sixties. Houses in those days were built from materials designed to last decades. Nobody gave the slightest thought to the potential impact of degrading asbestos on the health of house-owners until now.

Our soil stack pipe whilst in sound condition looks awful. Paint peeling like leprosy exposing patches of grey material most likely asbestos cement. In an ideal world, I would have scraped off the patchy black stuff then re-painted the pipe in either Hammerite or some other waterproof exterior pipe paint but no can do. To attempt such a thing might result in a fate worse than death.

BEFORE - Awful pipe

So, do I let sleeping asbestos dogs lie or do I find someone who can replace the soil stack in the safest way possible? But without it costing me an arm and a leg…

Our builder assures me his plumber is up for the job and can replace the pipe taking all safety or waste disposal considerations into account. Okay. I smile hesitantly before retreating indoors, shutting every window so that no A-dust can get inside and kill me. OMG the lad’s not even wearing a face-mask!!!

Old soil stack removed

One aspect of replacing a soil stack pipe that is perhaps not immediately obvious to plebs like me is that the task involves connecting the new plastic waste pipe to the back of your toilet.

New pipe has to connect to loo

Sounds simple enough but when your loo is of the back-to-wall type incorporated into a fitted unit then be prepared to have your toilet trashed in order to accomplish this because a plumber/builder will need to reach the back of the pan.

OMG!  My beautiful toilet unit

Horror of horrors – just look at our loo! I really hope they know how to put Humpty Dumpty back together again. Good job I’ve got a downstairs cloakroom or I might have to spend the day in the Spoons nursing one of those bottomless coffees in case I need a pee. Aside from the occasional sneaky peak, I’m keeping well out of it.

After what seems like hours of banging, crashing and scurrying upstairs, I’m summoned to inspect their handiwork. Phew! The toilet immaculately assembled. If I hadn’t snuck upstairs earlier, I would be none the wiser.

You'd never know they'd been here

As the upper part of the wall is yet to be cladded then only the bottom half of the soil stack has been replaced with a nice sturdy plastic pipe.

New pipes to be connected together

Waste water pipes from handbasin and shower temporarily plumbed in with new pipes which will eventually be joined into the main soil stack rather than run as separate pipes as had been the case previously.

So far so good. Only the cladding remains to be done.  Let's hope I don't have to wait too long for that part of this project to be completed.

Replacement soil stack to be continued

BOOK LIBRARY GOES LIVE

What do you give a 31 year-old for his birthday? A Bluey cake, of course!

Bluey says Happy Birthday

Come on - you don’t really think I spend all day every day priming, painting or putting up fence posts, do you? I’m a dab hand in the old baking department too. But cookery is a subject for another day because there’s a little lending library to be finally put to bed.

Those fence posts are as solid as a rock, the perfect base for our book box so it’s just a case of securing one to the other.

Place book box on top of both fence posts. Whilst one of you holds everything in place, outline each of the posts in pencil on the underside of the box.

Drawing round posts

Remove box and lay it flat on its back. Mark lines diagonally from corner to corner on your pencilled post outline until you have a cross in a square. Use the lines on your cross to determine the location of screw holes. Drill holes straight through from the underside taking care not to splinter the wood. You can use one very large screw in the middle of the cross or a couple of diagonal ones like we’ve done.

Drill holes from underside of box

Place box back onto the fence posts. Again, it’s a two-person job as one of you needs to hold everything whilst the other one screws the box down onto each post. That is going nowhere. Even a force 5 gale isn’t going to knock it down.

Screwed down onto fence posts

Stand back to admire. Wow! It’s turned out so much better than I expected. My son’s as pleased as punch and can’t wait to declare the lending library officially open on the village Facebook site.

Wow!  Looks great

I hope his little act of kindness will be well appreciated by the locals and encourage a love of reading.

Lending library officially open

BOOK LIBRARY - FENCE POSTS

Every day’s a school day in the world of DIY, why should today be any different?

Today folks, we are road-testing new landscaping skills after watching a few of those online teach-yourself-how-to-put-in-fence-posts videos. Dig a hole, stick a post in then add concrete. Sounds simple enough. Except as everyone knows, it never is!

Son has found a piece of prime real estate in his front garden on which to site the village’s new lending library. The book box is being bolted on to a couple of sturdy fence posts so that it just hovers above this brick wall.

Can we put it there?

Once you’ve worked out exactly where along the wall the library is to be positioned then dig a very large hole about a foot deep as close to the wall as you can get. Measure the distance between the bottom of your hole and the top of the wall to determine the height of the fence posts.

Dig some deep holes

Cut fence posts. We used 1 x 2.4 metre post that was 10 cms square cut in half. Nice and chunky. Even a big bad wolf is going to struggle to blow those buggers down.

Look no hands to hold posts

Stick post in the hole. To save having to hold the posts in situ whilst the concrete dries, the other half has used some gash bits of timber and long clamps to chock the two posts evenly away from the wall.

Quick drying concrete for posts

Pour powdered postcrete into the holes around each fence post making sure it’s nice and compact then just add water. Always follow the recipe instructions on the packet for the best chance of getting a good bake.

Add powdered postfix

Then pour on the water

Pub lunch anyone? Well, there’s no point spending hours watching the bloody things dry, is there?