If the Devil is in the Details, then Satan was the Chief Previous Rennovator of this House!
We've been here just over a month now. It doesn't seem that long, but the days have kind of blurred into each other a bit. For every maintenance task that's been started, another two or three have had to be done first, just so that I can get back to finishing the original one. As a result change has been slow sometimes and not always easily visible.
The first week was essentially taken up with moving boxes and furniture in (including waiting an extra two days for tooticky's piano, because it was too wet to unload from the truck safely on the day that everything else arrived from the North); moving boxes and furniture out of the way of the plasterers/painters while they repaired the damage from the break-in and some of the more egregious holes in the walls created by the previous tenants; cleaning up the mess left by both said tenants and the alleged cleaners that the real estate agency engaged to come in and clean up; and urgent repairs.
Within the first 48 hours I had repaired the leaking toilet (leaks from the seal around the flush pipe from the cistern to the pan, and the leak inside the cistern itself, although I still think there may be one around the base of the pan that I can't find), unplugged the bathroom sink and shower/bath drains *shudder*, pulled up some of the greasy, oil-soaked carpet squares that had been nailed to the kitchen floor, removed the genuine 1980s dishwasher that came complete with genuine 1980s water and fungus, made the electric stove work and pulled the non-functional hot-plate element out, begun to solve some our curtaining problems, and gone most of the way to making the back door lockable. The tenants had taken all their curtains and 95% of the curtain rods with them, and the majority of the light globes as well. I think we made three or four trips to the local Bunnings (huge hardware store) within the first two days.
As we've begun to instill order I've lost track of the number of nails and screws I have pulled out of walls, doors, window frames, the floor, and every other surface that I can think of. And that's only about 50% of the fucking things - there's many I just haven't got to yet. As I noted in FB recently, I think I need to invent time travel myself, just so that I can go back and pry the hammers, screwdrivers, drills, nails, and screws out the the previous denizens' hot little hands, before they can start causing so much damage. It's been a marathon of prizing, filling, and sanding to try and deal with all the holes left behind in plaster and wood. At least I've been able to recycle a few of the less mangled nails and screws along the way.
I've made plenty of mistakes myself, and really have issues with some of the praise I've been getting from people like Tooticky and her mum or Godmum. I am not a master craftsman of any bloody sort, and it's frigging obvious that that's the case. I am only better than the retards that were here last, and the ones before that. It's really frustrating when you want to get some something done right (or at least cheaply and smoothly) and it never quite works out that way. Over-praise just makes that frustration worse. At least I can console myself with the thoughts that 1) I'll get better as I go, and 2) even the pros have some pretty off days.
As we've lived here, and gotten to know a few of the people on the street and squeezed further details out of the agent, some of the back story has begun to emerge. When we sorted through all the mail left behind we discovered that the previous tenants owed a really impressive amount to the state in things like parking and traffic fines. I'm surprised that Tooticky and I haven't had the bailiffs or sheriffs around yet (as kitling, catsidhe, I, and the rest of Hotel Gore St. did on at least one occasion). It's still unclear but we suspect that the tenants did something of a midnight flit, probably as a result of said fines, as the property manager wasn't aware that they had vacated until the agent selling the place went around to pull down the 'sold' sign and discovered the silent house. If we'd known, Tooticky and I could have moved down a week or three earlier, and probably prevented the break-in and damage that occurred while the house was sitting empty. When the property manager came around after the visit from the selling agent to inspect the place she discovered that not only had the tenants left us useful presents like the 12' trampoline and collection of traffic control devices in the backyard, but they'd also just turned their guinea pigs and blue-tongued lizards loose as well, which were lolloping and crawling around the yard as well...
Meeting the neighbour on one side proved to also be instructive. When we introduced ourselves (and explained that no, we hadn't come to talk to her about Jesus), she asked if we were renting, or had brought the place. the look of suspicion turned to one of... relief... acknowledgment that we might be real people...something like that maybe... on her face as we told her that we were the crazy ones who had brought spoke volumes. I am so sick of encountering that idea that renters are all unemployed scum who can't be trusted not to steal the wheels of their neighbour's rubbish bins in order flog them for drug money. It's sad, and tiring, and made me very mad before I became a land-owning capitalist-pig-dog, but there are moments when I can understand how that bias comes about. Some of my encounters with the ambulance service, and dealing with the aftermath of the previous tennants here make it very easy to adopt. The guy who owns the junk shop (his words) down the street has also been informative. Apparently one of them wasn't even very good at stealing other people's clothes from the local laundromat. :(
However, we're here now. And while we haven't mown the grass or repaired the sagging side gates yet, I hope that once we have the place reroofed, such a visible change to the place may give our neighbours a little more confidence. Who knows? The absence of escapee guinea pigs may also help.
Each night we've tended to collapse with yet another collection of catalogues for kitchen designs or house & garden magazines to peruse, but life outside the Project has gone on during the days. I've been doing modestly well at uni: my maths is better than I feared and perfectly sufficient for calculating drip rates; I have some idea of how to insert catheters; and I'm off to a medical/respiratory ward next week on clinical placement. Unfortunately I've had bugger-all paid work since we moved, but luckily Tooticky's slaving away at the history mines has been keeping us afloat. She's been coming home full of interesting ideas and stories, including plans for the anniversary of the signal station on Mount Nelson and the horrible things 1960s cooks did to perfectly good scallops.
It's lunch time now, so I'll leave it all with a link to the growing Flickr album of house pictures.
The first week was essentially taken up with moving boxes and furniture in (including waiting an extra two days for tooticky's piano, because it was too wet to unload from the truck safely on the day that everything else arrived from the North); moving boxes and furniture out of the way of the plasterers/painters while they repaired the damage from the break-in and some of the more egregious holes in the walls created by the previous tenants; cleaning up the mess left by both said tenants and the alleged cleaners that the real estate agency engaged to come in and clean up; and urgent repairs.
Within the first 48 hours I had repaired the leaking toilet (leaks from the seal around the flush pipe from the cistern to the pan, and the leak inside the cistern itself, although I still think there may be one around the base of the pan that I can't find), unplugged the bathroom sink and shower/bath drains *shudder*, pulled up some of the greasy, oil-soaked carpet squares that had been nailed to the kitchen floor, removed the genuine 1980s dishwasher that came complete with genuine 1980s water and fungus, made the electric stove work and pulled the non-functional hot-plate element out, begun to solve some our curtaining problems, and gone most of the way to making the back door lockable. The tenants had taken all their curtains and 95% of the curtain rods with them, and the majority of the light globes as well. I think we made three or four trips to the local Bunnings (huge hardware store) within the first two days.
As we've begun to instill order I've lost track of the number of nails and screws I have pulled out of walls, doors, window frames, the floor, and every other surface that I can think of. And that's only about 50% of the fucking things - there's many I just haven't got to yet. As I noted in FB recently, I think I need to invent time travel myself, just so that I can go back and pry the hammers, screwdrivers, drills, nails, and screws out the the previous denizens' hot little hands, before they can start causing so much damage. It's been a marathon of prizing, filling, and sanding to try and deal with all the holes left behind in plaster and wood. At least I've been able to recycle a few of the less mangled nails and screws along the way.
I've made plenty of mistakes myself, and really have issues with some of the praise I've been getting from people like Tooticky and her mum or Godmum. I am not a master craftsman of any bloody sort, and it's frigging obvious that that's the case. I am only better than the retards that were here last, and the ones before that. It's really frustrating when you want to get some something done right (or at least cheaply and smoothly) and it never quite works out that way. Over-praise just makes that frustration worse. At least I can console myself with the thoughts that 1) I'll get better as I go, and 2) even the pros have some pretty off days.
As we've lived here, and gotten to know a few of the people on the street and squeezed further details out of the agent, some of the back story has begun to emerge. When we sorted through all the mail left behind we discovered that the previous tenants owed a really impressive amount to the state in things like parking and traffic fines. I'm surprised that Tooticky and I haven't had the bailiffs or sheriffs around yet (as kitling, catsidhe, I, and the rest of Hotel Gore St. did on at least one occasion). It's still unclear but we suspect that the tenants did something of a midnight flit, probably as a result of said fines, as the property manager wasn't aware that they had vacated until the agent selling the place went around to pull down the 'sold' sign and discovered the silent house. If we'd known, Tooticky and I could have moved down a week or three earlier, and probably prevented the break-in and damage that occurred while the house was sitting empty. When the property manager came around after the visit from the selling agent to inspect the place she discovered that not only had the tenants left us useful presents like the 12' trampoline and collection of traffic control devices in the backyard, but they'd also just turned their guinea pigs and blue-tongued lizards loose as well, which were lolloping and crawling around the yard as well...
Meeting the neighbour on one side proved to also be instructive. When we introduced ourselves (and explained that no, we hadn't come to talk to her about Jesus), she asked if we were renting, or had brought the place. the look of suspicion turned to one of... relief... acknowledgment that we might be real people...something like that maybe... on her face as we told her that we were the crazy ones who had brought spoke volumes. I am so sick of encountering that idea that renters are all unemployed scum who can't be trusted not to steal the wheels of their neighbour's rubbish bins in order flog them for drug money. It's sad, and tiring, and made me very mad before I became a land-owning capitalist-pig-dog, but there are moments when I can understand how that bias comes about. Some of my encounters with the ambulance service, and dealing with the aftermath of the previous tennants here make it very easy to adopt. The guy who owns the junk shop (his words) down the street has also been informative. Apparently one of them wasn't even very good at stealing other people's clothes from the local laundromat. :(
However, we're here now. And while we haven't mown the grass or repaired the sagging side gates yet, I hope that once we have the place reroofed, such a visible change to the place may give our neighbours a little more confidence. Who knows? The absence of escapee guinea pigs may also help.
Each night we've tended to collapse with yet another collection of catalogues for kitchen designs or house & garden magazines to peruse, but life outside the Project has gone on during the days. I've been doing modestly well at uni: my maths is better than I feared and perfectly sufficient for calculating drip rates; I have some idea of how to insert catheters; and I'm off to a medical/respiratory ward next week on clinical placement. Unfortunately I've had bugger-all paid work since we moved, but luckily Tooticky's slaving away at the history mines has been keeping us afloat. She's been coming home full of interesting ideas and stories, including plans for the anniversary of the signal station on Mount Nelson and the horrible things 1960s cooks did to perfectly good scallops.
It's lunch time now, so I'll leave it all with a link to the growing Flickr album of house pictures.