Bedlam Day 2

[smokingboot]

Today is insanely loud; the engineers replacing the boiler have been listening to the radio while they work. Far be it from me to make a dull job worse, but the noise has made concentration impossible, bringing my own work to a catastrophic halt. In those rare moments when the engineers upstairs turn the volume down in order to shout at each other, the workmen next door maintain a general level of cacophony using industrial machinery. The engineers have gone into the loft, and descended again, only to leave dirt and scuff marks along the cream(!) wall from above the bathroom door to the white ceiling. They say they will wipe it down.The gardeners continue their creation from a hopeless and unusable back yard characterised by rubble from under the extension, to a rather modern confection of decking, sleepers, and level ground. The trees look younger, heavy branches clipped back, and the nameless gnome lurks in a flower bed waiting for his chance to, I don't know, exert whatever powers a gnome may have. Meantime, the house is freezing because the front door is kept open for strange pipes and tubes, the local scrap merchants have asked if they could pick through our skip and take some of the discarded metal tat away (I said 'yes,' perhaps I should have traded with them. My rag and bone fu is weak.) There goes a drill again.

Everything seems to be happening in stereo. The drill is now upstairs, the radio is next door.

Two of the cats are hiding under the sofa. I wish I could join them.

Comments

Nail on head

[smokingboot.livejournal.com]

Why, why can't they close the doors? Why do they shout, even when the tools are turned off? Why must the music be so loud?

I get whingy when I'm cold and they appear to only be able to work in an arctic gale. But still, the results are good, they have actually cleaned up after themselves, so in the end, rarrrrrrr to the process but yay to results!

And double yayy to that moment when one's house is one's own again :-)

Re: Nail on head

[nyarbaggytep.livejournal.com]

I don't mind the cold, I dislike the sense of open boundaries, I like my house to feel closed off from the outside. It's a primal sort of a feeling. As soon as they have gone I pretty much slam the door, and do a lot of cleaning, even if they have done cleaning too, it's a sort of reclaiming thing.

Re: Nail on head

[smokingboot.livejournal.com]

The closed door and the silence is utterly blissful.