A swimming pool you say? How delightful

Lord am I tired… It was the burial of my dad’s urn / casket today; and the service at Amaravati. ‘cos my mum was stressing I drove over to hers last night – enabling us to set off at 6:30 this morning. Unfortunately it also meant I slept terribly; I think I got about 3 hours. Then we got in my mum’s car and I drove us to Amartavati in Hemel; It was only about an hour and a half, and the traffic was pretty good really. The service was really nice; the dahna offering went well too; the little nephews behaved themselves really well :-)

I got to try more Thai and assorted other asian foods – and apart from accidentally eating a chilli (and the accompanying period of me *looking* like I’d just eaten a chilli) and the experience as a whole was a good one. Driving back though, what with drinking only decaf, and the minute amount of sleep, I really really struggled. Anyway, got my mum back, fixed her waterfall, drank coffee, picked up my birthyday presents,m hopped in the car, drove back here and found… the subject of the title.

The damp survey is back on the house; it’s got *no* damp proof course at all. It is all but a swimming pool (Moisture content as high as 28%) and 2 walls in two rooms need to be replastered floor to ceiling ; but the quote for this is actually what I was expecting as the quote for *just* damp proofing to be, but actually they’ll do floor to ceiling plastering and 1 m high in the other rooms. So it’s really all *rar*.

It’s not really any worse than I expected; and actually better in some ways… so we await wednesday with baited breath.

Did you want the bad news or the bad news?

Okay. How about the bad news first?

I got a quote, just on the off chance like, of how much it’d cost to re-roof an entire victorian butterfly roof’d terrace with knackered joists and all. The ‘rotten as a pear’ assumption.

The bad news is that my rough guestimate for a new roof was *wildly* inaccurate. Laughably so.

The other bad news is that it was wildly inaccurate in the wrong direction; I was assuming it’d cost *way* more than the roofers think it’d cost. Arse. This now means that if the survey throws up the roof as being nadgered that I then actually will think ‘hrm, best get a quote from a couple of roofers’.

Oh balls. Oi! Universe! Stop tempting me!

And so it continues

So, back to doing more… I’m going to have to get a different keyboard I think. I keep moving this one around but I am suddenly seeing the point of Ergonomic keyboards. Bollocks.

Yeah, back to doing more Uni work today. Still got EU Maternity to do, but I’m mostly through it. Once I’ve answered all the bits I can I’ll start on the EU Mental Health; this is because there may be things I need to get from Uni for the EU Mental health, and I’d rather do them as one trip. I did spend 10 enjoyable minutes trying to find a paper for the Maternity pack, which I couldn’t find because… they’d got the bloody reference wrong. All that bollocks about marking us down for getting references wrong and they do it their-bloody-selves. They’d missed out a space, making ‘birth plans’ ‘birthplans’, eventually I thought “hang on, maybe they’ve made a typo” and found it. Bastards.

In other news, I’m still running after the NHS / the Government with a big stick saying do your fucking job. You know, given that they’ve made me wait 2 sodding months because they failed to send a letter, and the people in the NHS at the other end failed to actually check that they’d received a letter (both assuming that it had gone / arrived (*rolls eyes*)) you’d think they might be a little teeny bit pro-active about actually checking that things are now moving. But no. No. Apparently not.

“Hi, this is Kate, did you get a fax from X on Friday?”
“No….no, definately not. They did ring to ask for a fax number though.”
[Thinks… and you didn’t think it was odd that you then didn’t get a fax at all? *HEADS DESK*]
“Oh, ah, okay, I’ll go chase them.”

“We sent the fax on Friday”
“Right, well, they didn’t receive it”
“Oh. Well, I’ve got a sent recipt here”
“Yes, but they didn’t get it. I don’t know why. Could you send it again? Please?” [… before I’m forced to come up there, kill every last living one of you bastards, and take the form down to Bristol by hand myself]
“Okay. I’ll send it again.”

I will be ringing again in a couple of hours to check that it has, this time, been recieved. Before I’m forced to beat them with sticks. Beat. With. Sticks.

In other news, my wrist is hurting and I’ve not even started working today. Bloody thing. Also, I’m still completely stuck on this house, I know exactly how I want to layout the bathroom now. And the bedroom, I have some *really fucking ace* ideas for the bedroom, if the roof doesn’t need doing. God yes. Although they might cost too much. They might cost more than it’s worth to do it. But I have a concept. It would actually require builders though, and hence might well not be worth it. But hey. We can but think about concepts. If it’s too expensive, it’s too expensive. I don’t have the house yet. I alternate between dreams of no-one bidding on the house and me getting it for less than the guide price, and bidding wars where it rapidly disappears out of my price range; and of going with the surveyor and him saying “it’s knackered, fit only for demolition” and equally, going with the surveyor and him going “this roof’s just been replaced…” :-)

At any rate. I should be working now, so I’ll go prod my EU pack with sticks.

The good, the bad and the downright disasterous

I’ve done it again. It’s another Rebecca. It is. I’m a big sensible adult now, and I can see when my insanity is trying to take me places where I really shouldn’t go. That’s why I’m getting a free timber and damp treatment survey done. And then I’m going down there with a surveyor who’ll do me a shiny shiny survey.

But I love the house. God damn it, I love every mouse ridden damp rotting corner of it.

[lots of pictures]

Continue reading “The good, the bad and the downright disasterous”

Welcome to 1965

Some things weren’t great about the 60s…

Mmm, so lovely, so 60s, the kitchen of the past

Tasteful, no?

So I did my first house viewing today and I have to admit that I came away from it feeling… well… neutral. I didn’t love the house, and I didn’t hate it. I couldn’t see anything structurally terrible, it’s had its roof redone at some point, it had the potential for converting to a modern heating system pretty easily, but the floor layout sucked. Really sucked. And the potential for sorting out somewhere to park was small.

And then we got into potential return; at the end of the day, whatever I did to it, a house in Barton Hill would struggle to recoup the money I put into it. I don’t want to make a huge profit (although I’m not averse to it) – I’m after somewhere to live. But I would like to get my money back.

Obviously, having thought about it and thought about it and thought about it, I reached a stage of thinking, if it’s that hard then maybe that’s not the one for you. But I also had a bit of an epiphany. What I want is just not in my pricerange; it’s just not going to happen. So we have to reconsider ‘what I want’ and rephrase it to ‘what will be okay’.

I’m not buying a house to be my home forever. I’m buying a house to hold me over until I can go to Canada. It doesn’t have to be perfect.

And then I found another property, very similar ot the one I’ve just been looking at; sadly mid-terrace, not end terrace. Similar in fact, in virtually every way, except it sounds like it’s got a slightly better layout. Oh, and an outside toilet.

It’s in a better area. If I’d’ve spotted it 20 minutes earlier I’d’ve rung and arranged a viewing; but sadly they were shut when I rang. So tomorrow, onto bigger and… well… actually largely the same size things. But hey :-)

Hopefully I’ll feel more positive about the whole process tomorrow.

And with a summary of the news

1: I’ve got my appointment through. It appears it may not be a mammogram; it’s a full breast exam though, comprising (potentially) an ultrasound (definate), a mammogram (possible), and a needle aspiration (hopefully unlikely).

I am, unsuprisingly, not looking forward to this. It’s 5 days before my birthday. Be gentle with me, I’ll be stressed.

2: My iPaq sleeve has arrived. It’s charging at this very moment. Now I need a PCMCIA -> CF card adaptor and the biggest CF card I can justify.

3: I am going to look at a house tomorrow. I’m simultaneously scared and thrilled.

4: I went swimming today. I need to go swimming more often, as I am unfit.

5: My MP is on the committee examining the ‘Legislative and Regulatory Reform Bill’; he seems to be pro it with some changes. I remain very skeptical. Infact, I remain against the bill’s passage to law.

6: Securon wish to examine my faulty seatbelt to see what was wrong with it. I have been offered a new replacement on the basis that if Securon want it back after examining the faulty one then I give it back in 2 weeks time. *sigh*. I think that’s probably the best I’m going to get. So, I’ll give them a ring and arrange to drop it back on Friday (I hope).

Oh dear god I’m tired.

So, Friday night, I’m planning my weekend away to say goodbye to Trey – who’s heading off to climates colder and more northern – and I arrive home after my day shift to a phone call which runs thus:

Mum: “Kate… the cistern’s leaking again…. quite a lot…. do you think you could come down and fix it…”

The temporary repair I did a while back (because I couldn’t get the right bit) had finally given up – well, actually it’s given up because I replaced the ball-valve with the same type of ball valve instead of going with my (feminine?) instinct and deciding that the plumber had fitted the wrong kind before and changing to the type of valve I thought it should be.

Unfortunately I’d also agreed to collect my Victorian cistern for my new house (which I have not got) from Freecycle – before I left on Saturday – and so it was on Saturday morning that I flew out of the house and round Bristol to collect a toilet cistern. Having collected it the bloke said ‘do you want the toilet too?’ – I looked, and a Victorian toilet in *staggeringly* good condition (apart from being somewhat mud filled) became mine also. Of course, this meant that my original time saving plan was somewhat destroyed – having an *entire* toilet in the car was a bit much when travelling a couple of hundred miles.

So, I switched back, headed home (enabling me (handily) to collect my camera); unloaded the toilet and cistern and piled back in the car only to discover… a car accident.

Then I joined the M4 Roadworks queues. I got to my mums. I fixed her toilet cistern (seeing a pattern?). I jumped in the car and Continue reading “Oh dear god I’m tired.”

Unclean! Unclean!

When I was filled with the youthful joys of the world (i.e. a few years ago) estate agents (realtors) were considered somewhat slimey. Indeed, my family’s experience with them left me thinking that dealing with Estate Agents was somewhat like diving headlong into a bucket of jellied eels.

Dealing with estate agents was an experience wont to make you wash yourself clean afterwards.

Oddly though, their obsequeous nature appears to have vaporised. I presume this is because houses more or less sell themselves, and the job of the estate agent is now to simply extract money from you – not to actually put any effort into finding houses for you or anything silly like that, because you’ll find the house using the internet, turn up, view it and buy it or not. They are now glorified typists – putting houses on the market at ridiculously insane prices (entering their details on their website) and then creaming off a huge chunk of the money.

*sigh*

Anyway, dealing with them today left me feeling frustrated, annoyed and completely demotivated.  Well, that and dealing with my favourite government deparment again. Oh, and the NHS. *sigh*

I don’t really have any energy and this just saps what little there is right out of me. Like a fracking vampire.

Work makes me tired

So, even when I’m fine, I just have to start working on my disertation, my EU packs, my assignments and I’m hit by a wave of tiredness. I know it’s psychological – I know it’s because I just want these 3 years to be over and done with. But I’m so tired. So tired.

I felt okay, although I’m still pissed about the house. I really want to go looking, but finding the enthusiasm and time is hard… time’s the worst. Bloody time. I need more of it. Lots more.

Well, that was quick.

So, that house I found yesterday. They let me out early today – the ward’s closed (again) so I was down to two patients awaiting scans…

So, having handed over I dashed home, hit the Land Register, and found the owner of the house. I managed (using a phone directory and a distinctive name) to find the owner’s phone number (he’s moved since he bought it). Rang him and he’s… in.

Sadly, my run of good fortune ended there. He doesn’t want to sell, the property was bought for redevelopment… 6 flipping years he’s had it, surely it’s someone elses turn? Ah well. Still, for 4 quid I’ve found out that that is not to be my house. If anyone else can coax him into selling :-/

So, the hunt is back on. I’m a bit disappointed (not really suprised though)… I’d’ve liked it to be that easy. And I could really see potential in that property. Never mind.