Woodwork class 1974

Don't I wish I had paid more attention to the instructions of my Form Two woodwork teacher, Mr. Pingstone. Known to us as "Chisel", his acerbic wit, axe-shaped face and ability to wield a set square as an offensive weapon caused in me a permanent phobic reaction to all forms of manual labour. Especially that class of activity, so popular in England, known as "D.I.Y.". Because, now that I am in the final stages of purchasing an 1890's Victorian terraced house in Norwich, I find myself faced with a bewildering array of tasks that need doing before the house is habitable.

The magpie habits of the previous owner, and the weak sphincter control of her charming dog Ruffles, as well as a general lack of maintenance over the last quarter century or so mean that once all the pictures, crucifixes, ornamental plates, mirrors and the like are removed from the plastered walls and the Rorschach-stained carpets are prised from the floorboards, I will be left with a whole lot of renovation to do.

The fireplaces need to be unblocked, the kitchen, utility room and downstairs bathroom need to be retiled, in fact the kitchen needs to be completely replaced, various walls need painting, ceilings need skimming (and this has to be done carefully otherwise the ancient lath and plaster will come tumbling down), woodworm need to be admonished, rising damp needs to be averted, a positively dangerous light fitting in the hallway needs to be raised another foot on its pendant chain (the current owner is somewhat wizened and bowed by years and manages to scoot undamaged underneath the dangling ironmongery - which, needless to say, has caught me between the eyes more than once already on my inspection visits). Oh and a whole lot more besides.

As to the back garden, it does have a lovely rosemary bush - if not much else. The garage is not in great nick, and also has an asbestos roof which will require people in space suits to remove (English Health and Safety laws, somewhat bemusing to those of us who grew up on an asbestos mine in Rhodesia).

















Ah well, at least the little conservatory will be a perfect place for my Rhodesian teak bar counter. I can set up a small pub, decorate it with militaria (and I'm planning to acquire some new stuff, more on that later) and invite friends round to sample Southern African wines and beers.


Should be fun. Once, that is, I have flattened my meagre savings paying other people to do the work needed. If only I'd paid more attention in class.