Builders, builders

Aug 11, 2015

I really want to get this right. After divorce, death, marriage (?) dealing with builders is supposed to be the most stress-inducing activity suffered by the middle-classes. Ok, I have a little insight into what needs to be done having spent a small part of my youth holding bits of wood, stripping paint and wall-paper (most satisfying), unblocking sinks etc. I know enough to know I don’t know enough nor have the time nor the inclination to develop the skills to deal with disasters flowing from bodged attempts at DIY. My Dad would by shaking his head in confusion.

So. I am auditioning builders to move the bathroom upstairs. This involves some manoeuvring internally (the house, not me) and essentially a complete rewire and a new heating system, combi boiler, blah, blah. Today I met a builder, G, who lives locally and I am guessing is originally from Turkey. A very bright, polite and switched on young man. He explained to me clearly why the windows leak as they do (they have been fitted poorly) and there are little gaps and flexing of the frame. When it rains, in comes the water. It is most unsettling to see how the whole frame shakes when the windows are closed. Out they will come then will be refitted securely. Most window fitters, tosspots. Tomorrow I see two other builders but I am exhausted already by the discussions. G is working in Chelsea at the moment. He says it would be relief to do a job in New Barnet that didn’t involve trawling into town working for people who change their mind 18 times about the wall colour.

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