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-...