I may retire and collect dogs.

Part Six and one sixteenth (let’s not get carried away here).

Ok, maybe it’s time to withdraw and regroup, I almost took dog wormer instead of paracetamol! My home is in chaos as it’s mostly a building site, but perhaps it was unwise to put the pet medication on the same shelf as the human stuff. Perhaps I inadvertently took something really exotic at I seem to be experiencing auditory hallucinations akin to the soundtrack of ‘Apocalypse Now’… Oh, sorry, no. The helicopters really are there. They have been buzzing round for several days which means that either A) an armed conflict is imminent and the local airbase is making ready (but nobody seems to have mentioned this) or B) yet another dangerous prisoner has gone walkabout from the local open prison. It’s the season for it, fine warm weather, evenings getting shorter…. (no one has mentioned this either). Perhaps I should screw the upstairs window back in or remove the easy access scaffolding tower???? Yes, I am STILL scraping, sanding and painting. After twenty odd years of utter neglect my house is finally getting a facelift (please, no mention of that filthy word ‘makeover’….). I am a little concerned at the absence of many roof tiles in the front, but you can’t see that unless you stand in the middle of the road, so most observers will die swiftly and no one will ever know.

I have been chatting to my mate (via email) about the soap opera that is my road. Normally I’m a bit of a hermit, apart from notable excursions to the pub. I don’t really ‘do’ people, but I may have mentioned this. However, in the prolonged and painful course of the scraping and sanding, I have been in a position to observe the life of the terrace as never before. It’s  fascinating. As I rub down the old paint (perhaps I should have got that lead testing kit. My brain has gone on an extended sabbatical, along with my grammar and spelling) I watch the activity below and suddenly it’s like being part of the ‘Midsommer Murders’… Who’s doing what to whom and why…. I could cast myself as Miss Marple. All I need is a murder (I don’t suppose an ossified ferret in a compost heap counts?).

Oh dear, it does sound like I need to expand my horizons a little. It’s all the waiting. There is some activity on the house. I have been tormenting my solicitor about the right of way issue. We have been round the houses (not to mention in to visit the neighbours and out the back again). I THINK the issue is close to being resolved, but I don’t want to get ahead of myself. When I finally managed to speak to the gentleman in question we agreed that I didn’t want to buy a property whose access was at the mercy of the local nutjob (a very oversubscribed position). At the urging of Himself (who is overseeing works on site here) I mailed a précis of our conversation and my understanding of it back to my solicitor….. including the phrase “a place without assured access is no use to me” and sent a copy to the estate agent. From a position of ‘this week, next week, someday….’ Suddenly we are catapulted into action. Things are happening. A fax AND a letter have been deposited upon the untidy desk of my solicitor. The vendors will seek a court order over the right of way, which, according to paragraph d, subsection f. s and k of the act of whatever etc etc means that yer man had better have a bloody good reason for trying to deny right of way or the court will tell him in short order that he’s a grasping bastard and he’s pissing into the wind. So there! This is intended to set my mind at rest, so I’m enjoying a bottle of wine and some hayfever tablets having done the sums for my tax return. Guess what…. I earned SFA again!

We are having a slightly blustery Indian Summer here. It’s the only summer we have managed. Small consolation is that Ireland has enjoyed a similar washout, so even if I had managed to buy somewhere suitable when I wanted to, I’d still be cold wet and miserable…..

As I fight my way through the dust, debris and tools which consume my home right now, I fantasise about the sparely but elegantly furnished house I hope to inhabit…. While Himself enthuses about the opportunities for offering the house and grounds as a divers campsite (it seems I need a compressor). If and when I manage to get my sticky little paws on this place, I intend to build a small tin hut, made of recycled plastic frames, sheepswool insulation and corrugated iron, into which I can squeeze a sofabed, woodburner and shower/toilet and maybe a small fridge and cooker. At this point I will resume my career as a hermit and let the rest of the world get on with it. I may collect dogs. Woof.