Janet Gogerty's Blog: Sandscript - Posts Tagged "scaffold"
Sandscript on the Scaffold
Sandscript on the Scaffold
What wakes you up in the morning? Crows at 3.30 am, seagulls at 4am, seagulls pattering feet at 4.30am, or perhaps the sweeter dawn chorus if the blackbirds have not been drowned out by their larger neighbours. If you’re not already awake before the alarm goes off you could be woken by the merry clink of scaffold. When I looked out of the bedroom window last Monday a scaffold truck had appeared; the next door neighbours were having a new roof. We elicited this information from the scaffold chaps as the neighbours were unusually quiet; it later transpired they were on holiday in Vienna, as we discovered when Mr. Next Door finally came round on Friday. The erection of the scaffold was not fully complete till this Tuesday and envelopes part of our land; platforms, lifts, nets to catch falling old tiles, though falling debris has already broken a couple of our tiles.
This hive of activity is merely the latest to occur near our house. At the beginning of April we got up one Saturday morning to see a scaffold tower arising ever higher on the other side of our back fence; by the afternoon it was covered in white plastic, an art installation? I posted pictures on our local Facebook Page, there was much amused discussion including comments from the owner of the house; he too had been taken aback by the height of the structure needed just to build a small side extension to his little house. The plastic was part of a new trend to keep builders dry; for the next few weeks there was not a drop of rain until the great white landmark was dismantled; within an hour a deluge of rain fell on our grateful gardens.
All around us houses are being extended upwards, outwards or being remodelled inside and if you want to be nosey go on Rightmove.co.uk and see what has happened to the interior of some dwellings. No wonder roads are frequently blocked with huge delivery trucks, mini cranes swinging over passers by as they deposit blocks of bricks and tiles, bags of sand, rubbish skips and portaloos. But we shouldn’t complain, our young neighbour has an app on his phone keeping him constantly updated on local house prices, so he can dwell with satisfaction on the increasing value of his totally remodelled house. Once the builders have gone, the outlook for the neighbours is usually brighter. The house opposite us was once drab pebble dash, privet hedges, an even drabber garage and little sign of life. After a year of work and constant fascination for passers by, it is transformed into a gleaming white mansion of interesting angles for three generations and a dog. The corner plot is evolving into a designer garden backdrop for lively family life.
In the meantime it is our turn to annoy the neighbours, our small integral garage is to be turned into a man den. We spent the weekend moving all my plant pots, now we walk past a portaloo to get to our front door.
The downside? In pleasant weather the garden is no longer a private, peaceful sanctuary. For writers, whether scribbling in the garden or typing on the computer, bangs, shouts and the penetrating shrieks of drills and saws are fatal for concentration. But for authors there are always new ideas for story lines, there is a certain house nearby that is not participating in this feast of refurbishment. My other half says it is not a crime to never open your curtains and blinds or wash your net curtains. No the owner is not dead; Mr. and Mrs. Strangehouse walk, cycle, motor bike and drive to and from their house, say hello and look normal. The theory that they have another property and are sitting on this one to make money does not prove there is nothing suspicious going on inside.
Visit my website to read a garden blog in words and pictures.
https://www.ccsidewriter.co.uk/chapte...
The new collection Times and Tides contains several very different stories about houses and gardens.
https://www.amazon.co.uk/Times-Tides-...
What wakes you up in the morning? Crows at 3.30 am, seagulls at 4am, seagulls pattering feet at 4.30am, or perhaps the sweeter dawn chorus if the blackbirds have not been drowned out by their larger neighbours. If you’re not already awake before the alarm goes off you could be woken by the merry clink of scaffold. When I looked out of the bedroom window last Monday a scaffold truck had appeared; the next door neighbours were having a new roof. We elicited this information from the scaffold chaps as the neighbours were unusually quiet; it later transpired they were on holiday in Vienna, as we discovered when Mr. Next Door finally came round on Friday. The erection of the scaffold was not fully complete till this Tuesday and envelopes part of our land; platforms, lifts, nets to catch falling old tiles, though falling debris has already broken a couple of our tiles.
This hive of activity is merely the latest to occur near our house. At the beginning of April we got up one Saturday morning to see a scaffold tower arising ever higher on the other side of our back fence; by the afternoon it was covered in white plastic, an art installation? I posted pictures on our local Facebook Page, there was much amused discussion including comments from the owner of the house; he too had been taken aback by the height of the structure needed just to build a small side extension to his little house. The plastic was part of a new trend to keep builders dry; for the next few weeks there was not a drop of rain until the great white landmark was dismantled; within an hour a deluge of rain fell on our grateful gardens.
All around us houses are being extended upwards, outwards or being remodelled inside and if you want to be nosey go on Rightmove.co.uk and see what has happened to the interior of some dwellings. No wonder roads are frequently blocked with huge delivery trucks, mini cranes swinging over passers by as they deposit blocks of bricks and tiles, bags of sand, rubbish skips and portaloos. But we shouldn’t complain, our young neighbour has an app on his phone keeping him constantly updated on local house prices, so he can dwell with satisfaction on the increasing value of his totally remodelled house. Once the builders have gone, the outlook for the neighbours is usually brighter. The house opposite us was once drab pebble dash, privet hedges, an even drabber garage and little sign of life. After a year of work and constant fascination for passers by, it is transformed into a gleaming white mansion of interesting angles for three generations and a dog. The corner plot is evolving into a designer garden backdrop for lively family life.
In the meantime it is our turn to annoy the neighbours, our small integral garage is to be turned into a man den. We spent the weekend moving all my plant pots, now we walk past a portaloo to get to our front door.
The downside? In pleasant weather the garden is no longer a private, peaceful sanctuary. For writers, whether scribbling in the garden or typing on the computer, bangs, shouts and the penetrating shrieks of drills and saws are fatal for concentration. But for authors there are always new ideas for story lines, there is a certain house nearby that is not participating in this feast of refurbishment. My other half says it is not a crime to never open your curtains and blinds or wash your net curtains. No the owner is not dead; Mr. and Mrs. Strangehouse walk, cycle, motor bike and drive to and from their house, say hello and look normal. The theory that they have another property and are sitting on this one to make money does not prove there is nothing suspicious going on inside.
Visit my website to read a garden blog in words and pictures.
https://www.ccsidewriter.co.uk/chapte...
The new collection Times and Tides contains several very different stories about houses and gardens.
https://www.amazon.co.uk/Times-Tides-...
Sandscript Under Seige
Leaving home is never easy, even if you’re just popping round to the greengrocers; you never know what may happen while you’re away. Don’t forget to make the beds and leave the kitchen tidy; after all, if you have the misfortune to be murdered while you are out, the forensics team will be round scrutinising every dusty corner of your home. If it is somebody else’s unlucky day you may return to find your road under siege, the whole area in lock down because a neighbour is being held hostage or that quiet house across the road is a bomb factory. At such times you will be glad you have your purse, credit cards and smart phone with you so you can shelter in a local hostelry, and most importantly, tell everyone on Facebook about your plight.
An Englishwoman’s home is her castle and preparing for the worst has the upside of the great joy and relief when you turn the key in the door and enter your own private sanctuary. Most of us have been lodgers, enjoyed institutional living, house shares etc, but most of us have not been refugees; fire, floods and gas explosions leading to a few nights in the local sports centre would give us only a small taste of what it is like to be a refugee.
But apart from life’s real dramas many of us do find our homes under siege; a first world problem, but stressful. If you read Sandscript on the Scaffold back in June you will know we have been surrounded by scaffold and building projects in our little road. Our own contribution to dust and noise started straight after Easter and is finally finished, the man den complete and brickwork re-pointed after years of being blasted by salty south westerly winds. Our local builders were polite and hard working, the finished product just as we imagined, the boss came frequently to check on the slow progress; we had happily agreed to them getting started rather than booking a block of exclusive time in the distant future. Ninety days of remembering to get dressed, not opening the bedroom curtains in case a builder is up on the scaffold, making sure you have enough milk for the endless teas and coffees.
In our various homes we have had windows ripped out in the middle of winter, houses rewired and repiped, new bathrooms, internal flood damage repaired. However polite and considerate the workmen, you still feel under siege, your home is no longer your own. You find yourself whispering, you can’t yell at the family or listen to the radio in case you miss them calling out with a query. The power gets turned off when you are in the middle of doing the ironing or writing your blog. You can’t get out to the shops or your zumba class because you are waiting in for the carpenter or painter.
Now all is quiet in our road; for the first time in ages no one is having any work done and there haven’t been any house fires recently. I miss the clink of scaffold and the procession of lorries swinging dangerous loads onto driveways. Never mind, perhaps next week our street will be involved in a real life crime drama and I will be able to write a blog about it.
In my latest collection of stories Someone Somewhere, Selina Harris finds herself under siege with a strange visitor in the novella ‘Someone For The Weekend’ and in the short story 'Recycling', the residents of a quiet cul-de-sac are shocked to find themselves being evacuated by the police.
https://www.amazon.co.uk/Someone-Some...
An Englishwoman’s home is her castle and preparing for the worst has the upside of the great joy and relief when you turn the key in the door and enter your own private sanctuary. Most of us have been lodgers, enjoyed institutional living, house shares etc, but most of us have not been refugees; fire, floods and gas explosions leading to a few nights in the local sports centre would give us only a small taste of what it is like to be a refugee.
But apart from life’s real dramas many of us do find our homes under siege; a first world problem, but stressful. If you read Sandscript on the Scaffold back in June you will know we have been surrounded by scaffold and building projects in our little road. Our own contribution to dust and noise started straight after Easter and is finally finished, the man den complete and brickwork re-pointed after years of being blasted by salty south westerly winds. Our local builders were polite and hard working, the finished product just as we imagined, the boss came frequently to check on the slow progress; we had happily agreed to them getting started rather than booking a block of exclusive time in the distant future. Ninety days of remembering to get dressed, not opening the bedroom curtains in case a builder is up on the scaffold, making sure you have enough milk for the endless teas and coffees.
In our various homes we have had windows ripped out in the middle of winter, houses rewired and repiped, new bathrooms, internal flood damage repaired. However polite and considerate the workmen, you still feel under siege, your home is no longer your own. You find yourself whispering, you can’t yell at the family or listen to the radio in case you miss them calling out with a query. The power gets turned off when you are in the middle of doing the ironing or writing your blog. You can’t get out to the shops or your zumba class because you are waiting in for the carpenter or painter.
Now all is quiet in our road; for the first time in ages no one is having any work done and there haven’t been any house fires recently. I miss the clink of scaffold and the procession of lorries swinging dangerous loads onto driveways. Never mind, perhaps next week our street will be involved in a real life crime drama and I will be able to write a blog about it.
In my latest collection of stories Someone Somewhere, Selina Harris finds herself under siege with a strange visitor in the novella ‘Someone For The Weekend’ and in the short story 'Recycling', the residents of a quiet cul-de-sac are shocked to find themselves being evacuated by the police.
https://www.amazon.co.uk/Someone-Some...
Sandscript
I like to write first drafts with pen and paper; at home, in busy cafes, in the garden, at our beach hut... even sitting in a sea front car park waiting for the rain to stop I get my note book out. We
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