The House that Al built

well Al & Nige & Si & Chris the Plumb & Little Chris & Barry & Gibbo & John & architect John & Daz the scaff. Oh yes and of course me, I was tea girl. Al was right of course, I should never have doubted, not even for a second because as he said it is indeed "reet". In fact I think it's really rather fabulous thanks very much.

When bought the cottage had damp (which literally seeped out of the walls and left interesting black mould patterns), rotten windows, some extremely interesting cracks (which let in even more interesting gusts of wind) and was powered by one little coal boiler which was rather childlike and required constant feeding with coal to omit any heat at all. I promptly lovingly christened it the hovel. It was not unknown in Winter for me to retire to bed with a woolly jumper over my pyjamas and a nice warm pair of woolly bed socks. I know, the glamour of it all, but what is a girl to do when she can see her own breath in the cold and has icicles on her window?

I embraced it of course as a "Design Project" as I'm a girl who likes to muck in and get involved. I'm the sort of girl who likes to get her hands dirty and doesn't really care if she has paint in her hair rather than the sort of girl who has to dress up like Tweetie Pie at Ascot and ponce about at the Opera. I'm quite capable of doing some plastering and tiling to and planned to actually. Al got lucky really, doctors orders not to do too much so I couldn't be quite as hands on as I had planned. Though that didn't stop me from doing all the painting and decorating even though I got a severe telling off about it all.

Hovel no more though. Oh no, now I have my house with my very, very funky kitchen which is the heart of any home.Here it is below complete with cosey corner for Scruffbag to cuddle down in and my chilli pepper lights which nestle in the corner. The back wall is still left white, ready to hang a selction of pictures, who says you can't have a gallery in your kitchen? I intend to anyway.



It's lovely with the sun streaming through the french doors, Scruffbag loves to sunbathe there, flat out on the floor as we have breakfast with the Sunday papers, head raised only to clear her bowl of any sausage thats offered. The plan is to complete a walled garden behind it with a collection of herb pots and maybe some fruit trees trained across the walls, but thats a work in progress.

And yes, I do cook, well bake mainly, a few of my recent efforts are on here of course, the chilli chocolate cake, the banana cupcakes with blueberry icing and of course Scruff's favourite brownies. I'm planning to make something for Easter of course, not quite decided yet between another chocolate extravaganza complete with chocolate bunnies or a raspberry and lemon cake with lemon icing and a sprinkling of mini eggs.

I also have a really rather lovely en suite bathroom complete with luxury double ended bath complete with bath pillows. Then there's the showerroom, with a very lovely walk in shower with the biggest shower hear we could find, just like my own little waterfall on tap. All very boutique hotel stylee even if I do say so myself. The picture below was taken before the finishing touches were complete buy hey gives you the general idea.



The bathroom is simply perfect for a big deep bubble bath, surrounded by candles, I'm still on the hunt for some suitable accessories for the ultimate bathing environment but love hunting for them in the most unexpected places. The old bath, which is a rather weighty cast iron one is another project, planned to be made into a pond possibly for fish, though Cooper is possibly untrustworthy in the fish department so that may need to be considered.

Finally the sanctuary of a new bedroom, with dual aspect its a very sunny room. Although I'm not a bimbo glamour girl type I quite like having my little dressing table, though I couldn't resist adding some blue fairly lights just to make it a little bit more funky.



At the moment it sort of feels like someone asked me to house sit a proper grown up house, silly but I do expect them to walk in and ask what I'm doing there, like some modern day Goldilocks.

Anyway, there we go. It isn't easy living on a build especially when you're a bit poorly like I have been but it's a job done great. For all the unfortunate mini digger incidents and mishaps along the way Al is the best builder ever as far as I'm concerned.

Well off now, really do need to decide what type of Easter cake to make, stop by sometime, there's always a kettle ready to boil, or a glass of wine ready to pour and cake to be eaten and laughs to be had. You can laugh at me dancing in the kitchen with the dog if you like or you might even find yourself wanting to join in.

TTFN
xx

bring back Bagpuss

just a quick entry. Was recently looking for art work for my very white kitchen wall and stumbled on this, a bright orange poster poem which pretty much captures my childhood. Made me smile. I think it would look good on the kitchen wall and will make me smile as I eat my purple porridge (just add blueberries). Yes I know I'm still a big kid, don't care. Life's to short to pretend your someone you aren't don't you agree?

So here's to orange things and Bagpuss and pretending to be Batman with your coat hood over your head, just like we did when we were six.

Another dimension, another dimension....

Cats generally are quite odd. Cooper - my present cat takes odd to a whole new level of oddness. I have spoken of Cooper before of course. The description of bandy legged, slightly camp serial killer still stands but since his recent adventure (which involved him going missing for a week, sparking a full scale village wide state of emergency) has meant that he's become even odder. He was found, on some steps just down the road, covered in coal dust, skinny and pretty traumatised. It later transpired that he had dislocated his tail, its true I even saw the Xrays and I had no idea how far a cats tail went up into his spine but ouch. I was pretty traumatised too, by the size of the vet bill.

Am pleased to report that the tail now seems almost normal and Cooper is on sparkling bird chasing, mouse molesting form (oh the joy of wrestling mangled mice in varying states of disrepair from him).

He has also decided that home is actually quite a good place to be, even with the building work his comfy chair by the fire seems appealing. Now he's recovered he likes to check up on the builders, a self appointed quality control inspector. He also appears to have strong views on power tools, specifically that they shouldn't be used when he wants a sleep and screeches at the builders to explain this to them.

In his self appointed Site Inspector role he prowls daily and so far he's been

1) rescued from a skip, thankfully before it was en route to Doncaster.

2) relocated to the house from his attempts to investigate the cement mixer (yes it was on at the time)

3) extracted from having a kip on the scaffolding lorry

Oh yes and then there was the whole incident with the wall tie drilling where Cooper appeared wholly convinced that he could stare Al out and the annoying noise would stop. It's enough to drive a girl to drink, even that Elderberry wine stuff that our Adie's mum makes.Ssh don't tell my consultant.

The upshot of Cooper's new home obsession took on an interesting new twist recently with the builders breaking through from the new extension to the current house. As I said on Twitter a bit like the Berlin wall coming down only with more cups of tea and hob nobs. That night you see Cooper came upstairs to investigate with us ( I suspect all day he'd been thinking "WTF, why is my house vibrating" and it was as I say as though Cooper had found a secret new dimension.

His sense of wonder was not dissimilar to the kids in the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe when they found aforementioned wardrobe. You could almost see him pausing and pondering the new dimension sort of like "OMG how did I never notice this bit before" debating whether he could really have missed a whole area of house to hide in for all this time or was it, oh yes far more likely, a portal had opened up to a new world, very Doctor Who. (he likes Doctor Who, except for the Daleks, he thinks they need to be terminated and is convinced there's a doorway at the back of the TV where he can get in and do for them and one day he'll find it , oh yes)

A full investigation of the new world was needed, which involved lots of panther like stalking around and sniffing. Of course I supervised and intervened where appropriate which interjections including "Cooper don't snort the cement" and "Cooper leave the cabling alone". then slightly more forceful "Cooper get the hell out from behind the bath".

I know what you're thinking "He's a cat, he won't know what you're saying" and yes I know that, I do, but I still talk to him the way my friends speak to their kids when they're being bratty. The investigation of the new dimension took some time of course because Cooper likes to be thorough. So I must confess on the third or maybe fourth stalk around the circumference of the room I reached breaking point, in need of a cup of tea and a nice chocolate digestive I stomped off and left him to it.

It wasn't that long, I promise, I'd finished the tea and the biscuit, well maybe three or four actually and then wondered where he was. So went to check and nope, nowhere to be seen not in the extenison, not in the bedrooms (not even under the beds),hadn't gone to dribble on my clothes in the wardrobe either and wasn't cuddled up with the printer (don't ask it makes him happy).

And then I heard a little cry, a Cooper whiny, "help me" sort of cry. Thing was where the hell was it coming from??. In the end I traced the sound back to the extension, not behind the bath or in the cement bag. There was nowhere else was there? Er oh yes a new built in wardrobe type thingy (yes I do have ideas above my station) and in there was a pile of wood, (well I suppose they sort of tidied up) and the cries came from there. Cooper was retrieved and scuttled of squeaking, presumably about the dangers of weird rooms that appear from nowehere and wood piles left therein.

Ever since then he views the new rooms with great suspicion and peers at them a lot through the new hall. He has also decided that I can't possibly take the risk of being left there unattended, so whenever I go for a bath now he stalks up to check on me. It's quite unnerving to be happy in your bubble bath and a squeaking thing appears, clambers onto the side of the bath an peers at you) Oh the glamour.

I am confident that the builder will put some doors on though soon as I know that "It'll be reet". Well at some point, hopefully this year even.

And here he is, in black and white, very reportage don't you think?. Best pop off now I hear the sound of approaching builders best make sure Coopers not trying to rob their breakfast bacon barms.Though his present obsession is the compost bin, don't ask I have no clue as to why. TTFN.x

"It be reet"

That's the phrase de jour at the moment in these parts. Initially it was a phrase uttered daily, but now it creeps into conversation up to two or three times at every tea break chat. "Who utters is?" I hear you cry and "Why, pray tell?" and for those of you who do not live in close proximity to the Yorkshire border "What on earth does that mean?". To answer, in order, (I like order):

- it is Big Al (our very lovely builder's) favourite phrase

- because the build is not yet finished but it will be, oh yes, and very likely this year

- a translation would be "do not fret my dear, everything will be alright, fine and dandy. Be assured that one day soon you will have actual running water, central heating and there will no longer be a gale force wind blowing through the holes I made in the wall"

Whilst a positive person who can usually find the bright side in most things even I am struggling to with this. Before you start tutting and decrying me as a drama queenie queen I wish to put forward the evidence.

Exhibit A (wow that takes me back) my rather lovely kitchen. The slightly jaunty angle of the sink may be seen as a design feature in some circles but does not exactly make washing up easy). You can see that even Cooper, the bandy psycho serial killer puss looks slightly perturbed). Making dinner know is a rather complex process involving utilising the dining room (which currently has half the bathroom fittings in it), the living room and on occassion the hallway. Lovely.

Exhibit A: Boho chic?



On the bright side I am becoming quite the little expert in one pot cooking.

Exhibit B the bathroom, well this is of course the true shocker. Discovered just after midnight on return from a trip to Dublin. In terms of toilets I have always been of a slightly sensitive disposition. This girl doesn't do camping or portaloos and whilst environmetally conscious and a lover of eco friendly housing don't even say the word compost toilet unless you want me to break out in hives).

The toilet had been moved to where the new one would be and the sink removed, yes removed as in no sink. I think its then that the panic attack started (breath, remeber to breath). The old toilet waste pipe which I have to say looked slightly crusty was still there, oh joy, giving us an interesting air conditioning system (aka howling gale). The skylight will be lovely of that I have no doubt, but it is unnerving to have a breeze coming through (it plays havoc with a girls scented candles humph) and the occassional plopping sound from manky bits of plaster dropping into the bath bubbles causes me to sulky pout (which isn't good for a girls wrinkles).

Exhibit B bathtime au naturel



It actually doesn't look as bad as it truly is, but out of shot is manky waste pipe, which I have put a bag over to kill some of the breeze coming through, which unfortunately has created a sort of mini bagpipe type thing. Trust me it is a little unnerving when you are happy on the throne and a gust of wind inflates the bag. I may draw a little face on it to make it friendlier.

Bright side, people pay thousands for the hot/cold buzz of the hammam an effect which can be acheived by simply stepping out of my bath into the breeze. Equally mud baths are very de rigeur and platers plopping into the tub is similar right?.

As for the heating system, at the moment we're still shovelling coal, good for the abs obviously but hardly glamorous. Still I must confess I do like a nice coal fire, very cosy.

But don't worry people because "It be reet".

Speaking of which, I guess I should make more tea. Strong enough to stand brushes in appears to be the preference and I may also hand over some of the choccies (Miniature Heros) not the Creme Egg twisted ones though (yum), ooh and I do like the Twirl's too - but otherwise I will share.

I know in the end it will in fact "Be reet" in fact and don't worry I won't be "avin a Benny".

TTFN xx

Something concrete

Hurray, today was concrete day and the trenches have been filled courtesy of two mixers full of grey porridgey gloop. Country girl's very pleased indeed, never thought concrete could be so exciting, but after years of waiting to sort this place out, it is.

Slightly concerned that Cooper is not anywhere to be seen but pretty sure he's not daft enough to end up concreted. He's not is he??

Not quite sure whether I should tell the builders that I spotted they had left their tape measure in the trench (they'd started pouring so it was kind of too late for me to save it). Just hoping Cooper shows up soon. He might be a bandy legged, bird chomping psycho but he's my bandy legged, bird chomping psycho.

Will go check in case there are any purring sounds coming from the vicinity.

XOXO

OMG just to warn you in advance the bricklayer starts next week, will be well over excited then !

Trenchfoot anyone?

Country girl was aware of course that building work was taking place (what with the mini digger and everything). But when she finally stepped out of the back door last night to take Scruffbag for her walk the full extent of it became clear. Deja vu for Country girl who felt magically transported back in time. There I was, back on that school field trip to Belgium or France or wherever it was (may have been both actually). You know, the one with the war trenches and stuff. Even if you didn't go on the exact same jaunt as Country girl I think it was pretty standard fair for all secondary school kids of our generation so you'll be on the same page.

So, there I was, in what was my garden but which know appeared to be a First World War trench (in case you think I'm exaggerating , as if country girl ever would, I refer you to exhibit A below)




Distinctly battlefieldy don't you think?

For those of you who actually went on the trip I'm sure you'll agree all I needed was Miss Hulse and Mrs Richardson there in matching kaggies bellowing "Come on gals next stop Ypres" and the scene would be complete.

As ever so many worries for Country girl.

Will she shortly receive a visit from the Time Team posse wanting to geophys her lawn?

How long will it be before a)Scruffbag or b) Cooper or c)Our lovely postlady or indeed all three of them require rescuing from one of the holes?. Where is A&E round here anyway (better look that one up)?

Also, with all this rain will it became an actual moat and as I already said what about trenchfoot for the builders (and could they sue me for it when they dug the hole mmm an interesting legal query methinks).

That just prompted another ponder, can cats get trenchfoot? Miss Hulse and Mrs Richardson never covered that. Off to check. TTFN

Kitchen sink dramas

Country girl just faced a challenge of earth shattering dimensions, in the most unexpected of places. The kitchen showroom to be precise.

As you will know, the very core of my inner turmoil and indeed the very reason for this blog, is the never ending city , country tug of love. But in matters of the kitchen (and indeed interior design generally) this country girl has been the most resolute of souls, a staunch modernist, clean and classic lines. "Forget this country twee bollox" was the battle cry "its gleaming modern gorgeousness for my little housey".

And indeed it was, creamy gloss handle free gorgeousness, strategically placed nightclub inspired lighting loveliness all round. Not so much a kitchen as a cocktail bar with ovens perhaps. But then it happened, country girl had passed another kitchen place and spied another shiny modern kitchen and got chatting to the owner, who seemed very sweet and slightly bored. So when he offered to do a design "that would be fabulous" was the reply. Just another option right? Yes well.

The trauma came this morning when country girl visited again, the design was lovely, rather traditional perhaps but well, functional. But then , in a chat with the design man he turned to an oak shaker style bespoke type set up. "Now" he said "I know you want modern but something likes this is very much what they like round your way". And the sales pitch began. Within 5 minutes he'd conjoured up a rural idyll of me making jam, surrounded by cheery chocolate smeared kiddies imported straight from the Boden catalogue. It was a biscuit baking heaven where Scruffbag would be a beautifully trained model of canine perfection and Cooper would return from his psychotic flight of fancy to adorable kittendom. Country girl, the epicentre and matriarch of a Larkin style clan happy in her WI bubble.

See you're picturing it aren't you? Lures you in, you can almost smell the strawberries bubbling I bet. Just about to ask me to pass a scone?

So there it was ,OMG country girl in meltdown on the verge of a total 360 giving kitchen man a blank cheque to create an oak filled cottage heaven.

But then it came, the nearest thing to a religious experience that country girl is likely to have - the rather booming voice of country boy (aka him indoors) which said "Lovely Roger, something my mum would like definitely, but a bit country twee bollocks for me". (which is where I stole the earlier line from).

Country girl wishes her readers to note that country boy was not being impolite to Roger that's how these close to Yorkshire border types are).

Anyway, the response from country girl at this point surprised even her, clearly the Boden baby fantasy sequence had upset the delicate chemical balance. And out it popped "No Rogers right, completely, its far more cottagey, what were we thinking,we'd have ruined the house, no one would ever buy it and they'd all think it was awful". Oh dear, oh deary dear in fact.

The look on country boys face was quite a picture, he had that look he gets when someone asks him if he supports Man United. Oh dear and the only response a sort of humph noise, which is never good.

An impasse was reached. A slightly horrified country boy decided country girl needed some city girl injection of some sort before contracts were signed. But holy hell what to do, cocktails at 10am frowned upon in these parts, coffee shop the only answer, which was of course the suggestion made so we could "review things". Roger was bid a fond cheerio. "Don't worry" he said "it happens. They often come in wanting modern but in the end traditionals what they buy".

They, whose they ?. Perhaps there is an entire sub colony of us out there, cruelly experimented upon as we adjust from our city heavens to life with wellies. Maybe there is a support group, others that can guide me through the transition?? So many thoughts whirring round country girls head. The coffee didn't help, country girl was well and truly in housewife mode by this point, country boy may even have been toying with the idea of a visit to A&E. As I said, oh dear.

Home now, country boy having parked the kitchen stylee debate for the sake of his mental wellbeing I suspect. Country girl retired to the sofa with some camomile tea and kitchen brochures to have a think about things. Suspect the Boden catalogue will have been hidden. So here it is country /city, city or country?? Whats a girl to do?

As I said a dilemma if ever I had one.

Ah well will ponder some more so TTFN - if you wish to fill me in on where you stand country / modern kitchen wise, please do comment below.

Digger,Digger,Digger!!

Country girl had a naughty glint in her eye on rising this morning. Thankfully the builder recognised that look and realised that she wasn't giving him the glad eye but gazing longingly at his shiny little friend, the digger.

(actual Digger shown below)



"Digger's arrived princess" - yes indeed it had. The P word again (noted by country girl of course. Mental note made and one less choccy digestive she thinks). I ventured a "Can I ...?" but like some warp speed mind reading genius his retort was "No love, can't have a go, not allowed, specialist equipment this".

Humph, well, country girl not best pleased and did what she does when she can't threaten disciplinary action or make someone redundant or even worse make them attend six sigma training for the 9 billionth time. What was it? Pout, a big pout. A full bottom lip jobby, just like she used to try on her dad to get her own way (he got wise and laughed eventually, think I was about 21).

And as that clearly didn't work started the charm offensive "Tea?", "Cracking love".

Country girl seems to say that a lot these days. So off I went "Tea time is me time" merrily dancing in my head (yeah right). Still looking lovingly through the window at the digger, if only.

It was then that country girl spied Cooper (camp psycho cat for those of limited attention span). Cooper had decided to play stalk the digger, not quite sure what he was planning to do with it. Certainly couldn't lop its head off and hide it in the coal shed as is his usual modus operandi. So he had to be rescued, or rather grappled to safety much to the amusement of the builders (I was actually tying to protect them) and much to the annoyance of Cooper. Who has thankfully now ended his campaign to get let out again and joined me on the sofa for a sulk.

So here we are, a petulent princess, pouty psycho cat and a love struck scruff bag (she makes eyes at the builders).

Word of the digger has spread we are expecting a visit from Ginger Dave who wants me to look at his cv, yeah right, I know its my digger he's after. They better not let him have a go or well I'll set the cat on em.

TTFN

the man with the van

As you may be aware (or will be shortly) this country girl has become somewhat frustrated with having coal fired central heating (for gods sake its the 21st Century). Then there's the kitchen that does not allow cat swinging of any sort (even though Cooper's recent misdemeanours certainly justify some mild chastisement.

So country girl, found her architect (he survived my petulence just about) had plans drawn up (new kitchen diner plus new bedroom above). After a temporary blip which caused delay (but which need not concern my dear readers) duly found some suitable builders to make her little housey dreams a lovely reality.

And this is where this little tale begins, when on Monday two builders turned up to make a start and demolish the thing of beauty previously known as my garage. Or if you listen to the neighbours "that bleeping eyesore".

They were pleasant enough (the builders, so are the neighbours!) and I of course, in a bid to ensure good relations, obliged with cups of suitably strong Yorkshire Tea. (#Tea time is me Time etc - don't get me started or Grey will be in trouble again!).

And all seemed well, the garage you see is not what we'd call a work of architectural greatness, constructed mainly from old scrap wood, bits of packing cases and it appears some rather fetching asbestos sheeting (I warned them so my Health & safety duty is discharged). "A good wind should have that down love", was the view of most of the neighbours and indeed the builders who were rather hopeful of a couple of bashes with a hammer and an early dart home (or at least a nice sit down with some more Yorky tea!)

The garage however had other ideas. Frankly I left them to it , (lets face it Diagnosis Murder was due on !) and anyway scruffbag (who adores men in overalls) had to be taken indoors for their safety and so she didn't get even more dangerously over excited.

And then there was a lot of banging, for a long time. A very long time. Eventually a very, very long time. So I popped my head out thinking 'well bound to be done by know lets get em another cup of tea, maybe even some shortbread'.

But there it was , still up, a bit more wonky admittedly, but still there. Oh dear. "Erm" I said. And then it happened, the reply that should have prepared me but for some reason didn't. "Don't you worry princess we've got a plan. It'll be sorted no probs". Having worked with many men, usually engineers over the years the use of the P word should have set off warning bells.

When they use it, it means one of three things 1) that they did something really, really stupid and are about to tell you what 2) that they are planning to do something really, really stupid and you need to identify what and stop it or 3)its to late to stop the stupid thing they did and they are about to tell you they landed the company in Tribunal yet again.

But somehow, I just smiled, and said "Ok, more tea? I'll leave you to it". It was when I heard their orange van driving off that I was a bit concerned they'd legged it and thought I'd sneak a peek from upstairs.

And there they were, in the neighbours drive, with the van, and a rope. And I watched as they tied one end of the rope to the van and the other to my garage. And then as they floored the accelerator (the van protested I thought for one moment they'd done for Cooper) and they headed off down the neighbours drive. I think i whimpered at that point, scruff certainly looked concerned about my wellbeing.

And there we are .. mmm.

I am pretty sure that this isn't the recommended method for garage demolition but in the end it did work and they left me with a delightful pile of garage related rubble (which apparently they needed another van for ! - I know, don't ask I was to bemused to!)

The bits are to be collected. Given that funds are tight I am considering whether I could persuade a London art fan that the guys are indeed Retford's artsy wunderkinds who have in fact created a sure Fire Turner Prize winner worth at least 18 squillion pounds. Over a cheeky Chablis even came up with a suitable working title "the Psychosis of Modern Living III" which I think is a surefire winner myself. So, if anyone knows either of the Saatchi brothers let me know, I may let them barter me down a tad on the price (if they chuck in some Nigella goodies as part of the deal!

Am concerned that the next thing due for demolition is the porch!!! I may need to tie myself to it Emmeline Pankhurst stylee to make sure they adopt proper demolition methods this time!!

(of the photos, you are seeing the premier of my piece ""the Psychosis of Modern Living III" I hope u enjoy its subtle ironies. The orange van is not the actual van but one the same (thought the guys might get annoyed if I started taking pics just yet!)

TTFN