Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Monday, September 29, 2008
The Final Meeting (or so they say)
We went to the Wood today for The Final Meeting with Mary and Alasdair (whose name I can now spell). We had a list or two; Mary had an Agenda; and Alasdair had identified a Mystery Flaw which I had certainly not spotted, though maybe the others had.
We discovered that because the road was a provisional sum, we would have to spend another £2000 or so to tarmac the entrance. But we were given Certain Information that we are not at liberty to divulge, and which Janet would kill us for acceding to, so this problem may disappear.
We mystified everyone by our incredibly accurate, logical (Roy) and lawyerly (me) reading of the so-called Acceptance of Completion Certificate. There will be documents to chase, I fear, in order to make all the paperwork line up tidily with our title deeds and the planning permission, which stipulates that certain things never seen in writing before by either Mary or Alasdair will have to be obtained from the planning department once certain other things have been done. Aargh red tape.
We wandered around checking that the paintwork was as we wanted it to be; and Alasdair showed us a narrow strip of sliding door upstairs that had not been painted grey. We saw that the holes for hi-fi wires had been made; and Roy immediately said he would have preferred not to have them. He was throttled. The tiny tiny gap between the north windows of the kitchen is to be plugged with a fillet on the outside. The access track is to have a couple of loads of gravel at the steeper and curvier bits. The Velux blinds are to be obtained and fitted by Alasdair. Mary's assistant Robert is organising the replacement loo lids. Alasdair's chaps will fix some clothes airers in the utility room. We acquired some keys. We agreed that we could manage without the other shelves at the back of the kitchen. And so on and so forth. Essentially, the project is just about complete. But we discussed the next thing: a shed for wood and stuff: next year's project, is we are spared.
We moved various odds and ends in: a kettle, mugs and plates, a coffee pot, one chair. We made the first pot of coffee. It was horribly rainy, so we did not saw up the pile of tree that we had been intending to tame.
It is all a bit of an anti-climax, given the economic climate. Whether we ever live there is moot, it seems; and we are rather gloomy. But Livy took some nice pictures; and it is a lovely place.
We discovered that because the road was a provisional sum, we would have to spend another £2000 or so to tarmac the entrance. But we were given Certain Information that we are not at liberty to divulge, and which Janet would kill us for acceding to, so this problem may disappear.
We mystified everyone by our incredibly accurate, logical (Roy) and lawyerly (me) reading of the so-called Acceptance of Completion Certificate. There will be documents to chase, I fear, in order to make all the paperwork line up tidily with our title deeds and the planning permission, which stipulates that certain things never seen in writing before by either Mary or Alasdair will have to be obtained from the planning department once certain other things have been done. Aargh red tape.
We wandered around checking that the paintwork was as we wanted it to be; and Alasdair showed us a narrow strip of sliding door upstairs that had not been painted grey. We saw that the holes for hi-fi wires had been made; and Roy immediately said he would have preferred not to have them. He was throttled. The tiny tiny gap between the north windows of the kitchen is to be plugged with a fillet on the outside. The access track is to have a couple of loads of gravel at the steeper and curvier bits. The Velux blinds are to be obtained and fitted by Alasdair. Mary's assistant Robert is organising the replacement loo lids. Alasdair's chaps will fix some clothes airers in the utility room. We acquired some keys. We agreed that we could manage without the other shelves at the back of the kitchen. And so on and so forth. Essentially, the project is just about complete. But we discussed the next thing: a shed for wood and stuff: next year's project, is we are spared.
We moved various odds and ends in: a kettle, mugs and plates, a coffee pot, one chair. We made the first pot of coffee. It was horribly rainy, so we did not saw up the pile of tree that we had been intending to tame.
It is all a bit of an anti-climax, given the economic climate. Whether we ever live there is moot, it seems; and we are rather gloomy. But Livy took some nice pictures; and it is a lovely place.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Is a Lid a Seat?
This is the lavatory lid story to date.
The lavatories are very pretty: cantileverd, a nice smooth oval, very plain. (The flush mechanism is a little maximalist and curvy; but there is a reason for the large size: it means that plumbers can get at the pipes through the hole left by the flush mechanism when you take it out. The flush mechanism that Mary has in her house is smaller; but hey we have a lower specification. Grr.)
Unfortunately, the lid of the downstairs loo cracked right across when I sat on it to rest my limbs and take a photograph. And it was later discovered that one of the upstairs lids had also broken at an unknown time and by an unknown agency. Anguish. A lid breaking problem in our lovely new house.
I called Ideal Standard and received some of the best customer service I have ever experienced (as I told the woman). I had quite expected to be told that I should Go Away Because Lids Are Not Seats.The story is, apparently, that they have had problems with some but not all of these particular lids. It is a Tremendous Secret; and they have gone so far as to bring in a university to investigate the problem. (Line of exclamation marks.) This is, it seems, the absolute final last ditch solution to problems with lids.
When supplied with the address of the house, the names of the builder and the supplier of the loos, the invoices, our mothers' maiden names and so on, Ideal Standard will issue us with a magic number the effect of which is that we will have free replacement lids for ever and ever.
Mary's assistant Robert is dealing with it all. So far we are not aware of any glitch having intervened.
The lavatories are very pretty: cantileverd, a nice smooth oval, very plain. (The flush mechanism is a little maximalist and curvy; but there is a reason for the large size: it means that plumbers can get at the pipes through the hole left by the flush mechanism when you take it out. The flush mechanism that Mary has in her house is smaller; but hey we have a lower specification. Grr.)
Unfortunately, the lid of the downstairs loo cracked right across when I sat on it to rest my limbs and take a photograph. And it was later discovered that one of the upstairs lids had also broken at an unknown time and by an unknown agency. Anguish. A lid breaking problem in our lovely new house.
I called Ideal Standard and received some of the best customer service I have ever experienced (as I told the woman). I had quite expected to be told that I should Go Away Because Lids Are Not Seats.The story is, apparently, that they have had problems with some but not all of these particular lids. It is a Tremendous Secret; and they have gone so far as to bring in a university to investigate the problem. (Line of exclamation marks.) This is, it seems, the absolute final last ditch solution to problems with lids.
When supplied with the address of the house, the names of the builder and the supplier of the loos, the invoices, our mothers' maiden names and so on, Ideal Standard will issue us with a magic number the effect of which is that we will have free replacement lids for ever and ever.
Mary's assistant Robert is dealing with it all. So far we are not aware of any glitch having intervened.
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