Tuesday November 18, 2008

Dehumidifier

When I woke in the small hours this morning to trudge down for my hip-loosening exercise and hot drink I was greeted in the hallway by a blast of good, clean, fresh air.  Totally invigorating.  Well, perhaps not totally, but I got a good lungful of it and felt very much better for the experience.

It’s our new domestic dehumidifier, you see, commissioned yesterday afternoon and punching away since, pulling the excess humidity out of the air and cleaning the blast with double carbon filters before returning it.

The effect is astonishing.  Rather like air conditioning without the chill.  Or the running cost.

The whole house feels better and now, after a little more than 24 hours running, it has settled down to automatic control, drying the air, allowing the months of chill and dank to come out of the walls, and then doing the whole thing all over again until now, I’m fully over my nasty day yesterday.

With modern building and furnishing materials, and central heating, it’s easy to forget that Wales is a damp country for much of the year.  And not overly warm with it except in the height of summer.

So that part of the story is overcome and my lungs and general systems feel much the better for it.  I swear that Dolly is feeling the benefit, too.

The next step on the way to modern comfort is the installation of insulation in the cavity between the inner and outer shells of the masonry walls.  More modern houses have insulation built in; this one predates that convention.  Not a job that Graham can handle, requiring specialist equipment and supplies, so he has arranged with a commercial company to send a qualified surveyor to look the place over and start the quotation process.  We’re looking for very heavy guarantees and indemnities, so only well-established companies are being invited to tender.

“I don’t think I understand all the ins and outs of this one,” I said.  ”Though I do know what a massive improvement it’ll give us.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Graham said.  ”I’ve researched it all thoroughly and I’ll run the project.”

“Good.  I’ll stock up on tea.”

“No need to fuss. When we do it the job will be over and done with in a couple of hours.”

I’m happy with that.

Monday November 17, 2008

A strange day, starting out early and collapsing in a heap very shortly afterwards.  What I call a ‘bad diuretic day’.  Anyone who has to tolerate the darn things is liable to know exactly what I mean.

I got over the collapse, more or less, by 11:30, and Graham provided a blisteringly strong double espresso for me to help me wake and get going.  It was like a little miracle and we were on the road, doing our errands, by shortly after mid-day.

Things got done, and I held up pretty well until about 15:30 when, back at home, I announced to the world that I needed sleep.  NOW!

I only just woke.  At 19:40.  I’m sure there’s enough of the day left over to make something of it but it’ll take hard work.

See y’all tomorrow.

Sunday November 16, 2008

‘Skyving’ we used to call it:

To intentionally avoid work or a regular obligation, usually by lying, conniving, or deception. To lay around being lazy or wandering aimlessly.  Sleeping or indulging in personal interests, pleasures, or vices while neglecting prior responsibilities.

Sometimes, we’d call it ‘bunking off’.  Or ‘taking a sickie’.

Whatever, I’d describe it now, along with my present absence, as being a way of just taking the day off, putting your feet up, keeping the coffee pot hot and reading a good book in the warm.

November just isn’t my best time of the year. Come to think of it, December and January aren’t so hot, either. But today, I’ll just take it off, and blame it on November:

No
vember
December
dismal partners
fag-ending the year
tipped by grey clad Christmas
and stale beer breathed Hogmanay
direct sun starved poets
tired of mellow mists
to seek solace
deep in the
warmth of
rum

Saturday November 15, 2008

I was singing earlier today.

“You sing a lot more now than you used to,” Graham said.

“Really?  Is that a good thing?”

“Oh, yes.  I know you’re alright when I can hear you sing.”

“Thanks.  I think I mean thanks, anyway.”

This is the song I was singing:

And then, later on, I sang this one:

And, finally:

Well, there’s no point being English if you can’t sing about it.

Friday November 14, 2008

Graham spent most of the day today wrestling with the w.c. in the cloakroom.  It’d been fitted incorrectly and had sprung three faults in consequence.  A trip to the DIY store in Neath was necessary to fetch a new valve assembly, and much grunting and groaning attended the re-attachment of the bowl to the floor, where inadequate fixing bolts had been used.

Typically, once the job was finished to his satisfaction, his good spirits bounced back and he went on to fit the second of the two new roller blinds in the kitchen, a job that was accomplished in good form.

I made him stop and sit still long enough for a photograph while that job was in progress.

“What do you want to take a picture of that for?” he asked.

“Because you look happy in your work and that’s always worth recording.”

“Oh.  OK, then.”

A happy workman

Thursday November 13, 2008

A very long busy day, up early to take a delivery from IKEA at 07:30, then to Swansea for provisions and lunch, back home and then to my new doctors’ centre to be inducted, blood pressured, weighed and measured.  I am now at an all-time weight record for me of 20st 8lbs.  The nurse didn’t seem at all alarmed by that because other indicators are still good.  Even so.  I have requested and fully expect to be seen by a clinical dietitian.  The nurse seems to think there’s a distinct possibility that I’m actually eating too little.

Such a strange world.  You could get all upset about it if you let yourself.  Fortunately I’m far too cheerful, bright and bouncy to do that and I’ll take things as they come.  I’m now only two stone below my father’s maximum weight, and at the level my paternal grandfather boasted in his prime.

We’ll see.

Other than that a decent, productive day even though it did rain for much of the time.  Graham is putting up the new blinds in bathrooms and kitchen, and will like as not start assembling the new storage furniture for the living room later this evening, finishing tomorrow.  It feels as though the accelerator has been pressed firmly to the metal.  I’m standing by, teapot at the ready, to issue congratulatory and supportive words as he whizzes past.

The sun shone for a bit today and the light became just right for a view across the valley, showing the Ivy Tower.

Ivy tower

Later in the day, not a lot has taken place to warrant a separate entry, so I’ll tag on to the end of the picture post.

What have we been up to?  Now that the list of ‘emergency’ jobs is done, fixing things that ought to have worked, and replacing things that ought not to have needed replacing, we’re beginning to take on the proper jobs of unpacking, cleaning and sorting out we’d normally have been close to finishing by now.

This house was not in the greatest of conditions when we moved in.  No point being coy about it.  Graham is far more laid back about it than me but even I am coming to terms with the grubby, run-down and neglected state of the place.  Somehow our vision of what the house is overcame our clarity of vision when we visited it before buying.  If that had not been the case we’d still have bought the place, but our expectations would have been adjusted appropriately.

Hey ho.  It’ll make no difference in twelve months.

And, at last, familiar things are being extracted from their packing cases and distributed about the place.  The emergency placement of furniture in the living room, where we had to make do with using less than half of the space while the remainder was filled with boxes, is being put to rights, moving the sofa to a better position and reversing the placement of the TV.  We’re still not completely sure what to do with the ‘dining’ half of the room but I’m sure it’ll get sorted pretty soon now.

We’ve given up on the carpet in the living room, halls and stairway [there are six steps joining the upper level of the bungalow to the lower].  It’s terminally musty and will have to be replaced.  We’ve vacuumed it at least once a day since moving in and still it smells, and it clings onto the dank almost dampness like a sponge, preventing any kind of wet cleaning.  We’ve ordered a modern dehumidifier to bridge us over the gap between intent and implementation, but we’ve decided firmly that the carpet will go sometime early next year.  The remaining carpets, in the bed rooms and in my study are perfectly fine, have dried out nicely, and will do until we get round to a full replacement.

I’ve done some intensive research on my new surroundings and have located a couple of good local places to which I can drive the car and walk short distances through the landscape.  I’ve also been told of a walk through the local ‘forest’ which I may just be able to reach on foot from the house.  My period of post-move ’shut-in’ is about to come to an end.

Dolly’s first-stage catio project is getting close, too, as Graham finishes what he regards as essential work to get the house civilised.  A small outdoor enclosure around the kitchen door will be done just as soon as the weather permits.

It’ll not be long now before I’m allowed to take some ‘before’ photographs of the house and, perhaps, a video walk-through.   The garden, sadly, is damp, over-grown and desolate.  The potential for a delightful small garden is there but it’s not an easy project to photograph it as it is.  I’ll see what I can do when the sun shines.  In the meantime it’s a joyful place in spite of everything, being filled with small wild birds who have claimed it as their own.

So, just now, it’s all down to ‘when the sun shines’.  We’ve had some lousy weather since we arrived, and I’ve had to spend far more time huddled up keeping warm and dry than is good for me.  Prospects are improving, though.

Tuesday November 11, 2008

A lovely bright sunny day.  You could almost hear the sodden earth heave a sigh of relief as the water burden began to drain away.  The level in the long strip bed sank and sank until it was back down to being merely boggy.  You’d not want to stand in it, though.  That might be perilous muddy to the ankles.  Or more.  Cut to image of portly poet waving his stick to the hills as he sinks slowly…

Anyway.

Graham spent much of the morning replacing the LNB on our inherited satellite dish with a new dual-channel device, and stringing an additional cable down into the kitchen.  Now we have independent satellite TV in the living room and in the kitchen.  Both TVs are equipped with Freesat boxes and, when the new Cilffriw transmitter is commissioned at the head of the valley, we’ll dig out our Freeview boxes.  So many channels, and yet so little to watch.

Once the external work had been done we drove over to Pen-y-Bont [Bridgend] to pick up the second of the Freesat boxes, supposedly a duplicate of the one we bought locally when we moved here.  To our astonishment there has been an upgrade in the interval, and the new box is a dual-standard HD thingumy, at the same price.  I nodded, smiled, and said my thank-you.

“Does that mean we’ll have high definition TV in the kitchen now?” I asked Graham when we got out into the sunshine again, and out of earshot of the slimy salesman.

“No, of course not.  But when we buy a new set for the kitchen it’ll switch over automatically.”

“Ah.  The wonders of technology.  Can we have lunch now?”

“Sounds good.  How’s about a MacDonald’s as reward for being good.”

“I’d rather like that.  You’ll have to navigate, though.”

“But you can see MacDonald’s, look.  Over there.”

“Yes, I know, but seeing isn’t always the same as getting in Wales.  There seem to be an endless number of roundabouts between here and there.”

We were in the depths of some enormous retail park on the outskirts of the town, and tightly embroiled in the clutches of an eight-way roundabout system designed expressly to confuse any passing poets.  Darn well confused me, anyway.

“Ok.  You drive, and I’ll direct.”

“That’s the way to do it.”

Somehow he managed to get us there, calling in at the largest Tesco’s in the world on the way to pick up a 1.5 litre bottle of their rather splendid French white table wine.  And three sacks of Starbuck’s House Blend coffee beans, too.  I smiled happily through it, a little bemused but with at least as much amusement as bewilderment.

When we got to the counter in MacDonald’s, though, I was finally beaten.  The nice young lady smiled at me, and uttered a stream of something that might have been Welsh but wasn’t.  And to my tired old ears, not at all like English.

“Lovely,” I said, with a big smile.  ”He’ll order for us, I need to sit down rather urgently. It’s been a long day.”

The nice young lady smiled even more brightly, and I was sent off to a corner seat in the window where I basked happily until Graham came over bearing our tray.

“Was that lady speaking English?” I asked.

“Yes, but you have to know Bridgend English to understand.”

“Ah.  A matter of not enough Bont in the Pen, I suppose.”

“Don’t be cheeky.  Just you remember I was born here.”

“Hum.”

Monday November 10, 2008

I think I’m justified in saying that it’s been raining here.  A lot.  And still more to come.  The ground is sodden. There’s a poor old narrow strip bed along the rear of our little front garden, close against the path, that has been transformed into a mini-water feature, some thirty feet long, one foot wide, and about nine inches in depth.  Doesn’t sound much, but that’s quite a lot of water waiting to soak away.

“I think the trouble is that this giant over-grown clump of montbretia is stopping the natural flow out onto the road,” I said, trying to be helpful.

“You could be right.  In fact you’re almost bound to be.  I can’t do anything about it just now, though.  Too many other things to get done.”

“That’s ok.  I rather like it.  And it gurgles in the most interesting way.”

I keep opening the window to see if the water has gone down yet.  It hasn’t.  It is getting awfully musical, though.  Glug.  Glug.

Oh, I know, it’s all very well for us to make a joke of it.  We did our homework on this location very closely to avoid flood risks, and there are many less fortunate people mopping up the waters and the mud today.  Again.  I suspect it’s going to become a general way of life if the weather patterns keep going the way they seem to be set.  And the insurance companies are going to have to come up with some creative exclusions to provide home owners with worthwhile cover for non-flood damage and other risks.

What’s been occurring in the little house in the valley?  A more or less constant stream of minor improvements and fixes, including one giant leap forward as Graham commissioned the new shower, instructing me to shove my poor grateful old body under the stream of lovely hot, clean water.  Oh, boy did I relish that this morning.  And I told him my thanks for a job darn well done, too.

Cupboards, pictures and mirrors are appearing and the giant pile of cardboard boxes in the living room, containing decorative and other ‘non-essential’ items, is beginning to disappear at last.

The house is drying out and warming up nicely, too.  Not that it was damp in the structural sense, but it’d had no heating for months, and a brick and block structure does need a trickle of heat to keep it from becoming dank and diserable. There’s a lot of repossessed properties, boarded up, quiet and desolate, going that way.  Such a waste.

And so the days go on.  I spend a few hours each day here at my desk, with yellow pad open and ready to go, with sharpened pencils all lined up alongside.  I look out of the window up at the hill and to the sky, hoping to snag a passing muse but they seem all to be in a dreadful hurry, rushing off into the east after some faster-paced excitement than is common here in my Welsh valley.  Sooner or later I shall strike the right harmonic, linking the slow old rhythms of the landscape to my own slightly more hasty thought patterns.  Or not.  The world will not end, or even notice, either way.

A ‘news’ item today suggests that Prime Minister Harold Wilson was suffering from early onset Alzheimer’s Disease while still in office.  I had wondered about that at the time, and I’ve wondered about it since, especially when I get the feeling that I may be going the same way, taking longer to do familiar things, struggling for words that I know but which just will not come to mind.

Hey ho.  I shall keep on wondering, that much is certain, and put my senior moments down to a mild eccentricity.  And I am lucky to have Graham around, to stop me wearing my underpants over my trousers.

Sunday November 9, 2008

“I wonder if it’s possible to un-invent wet Welsh Sunday afternoons,” I asked, watching the rain drop down the window pane.

“You could ask your mate Merlin,” Graham said.

“Nah.  He’s fast asleep in his crystal cave.  I doubt he’d be overly pleased if I woke him.”

“What, not even if you took him a nice cup of tea?”

“Don’t be silly, they… Ah. Does that mean you’d like a nice cup of tea?”

“See.  I told you you could do magic.  You read my mind perfectly.”

“Well, it’s a very short book.”

I did make the tea, but not until much merriment and jollity had transpired.

And it’ll not come much merrier or jollier than that, not until Merlin wakes.