Carey Hill Extension: a Photographic History

At last, the time has come. This oddly coloured toilet has been un-installed, re-installed, raised, lowered and generally buggered about for many, many weeks. Through it all, it has remained steadfastly in service (albeit occasionally rather leaky, see below).

It has, quite literally, swallowed all the crap we've given it.

But now, the walls grow ever nearer, the floor is removed and we all know the end is near.

Goodbye faithful toilet. And thank you...

..between that which the builders consider "nearly finished" and our own view of same.

I mean, yes, there's no grass visible, and the chickens can't get in anymore, but equally I can't see us sitting down for 'us tea' in this room any time soon.

Trust me, you don't want pictures for this.

We have had some problems with the new plumbing (the fact that all of the builders refer to the plumber as "Captain Flood" should have warned us, really). On several occasions, water has been seen dripping through the ceiling. We put pots and pans out to catch the drips, we curse the plumber and we step around the puddles.

So, when the ceiling began to drip again, we were not overly concerned. Newspapers were distributed, a tray was put on top of the cupboard where the worst of the dripping was, and Captain Flood's ears began to burn as we cursed him, his forebears and his descendants.

Then one of the children used the toilet. Suddenly the dripping accelerated. And it was no longer completely clear. Is it my imagination, or do those drips look, well, slightly yellowish?

Yes, the pipe had fallen off the back of the toilet, meaning that it flushed directly onto the ceiling behind the lavatory wall.

And all of this into a kitchen where Helen was busily making sandwiches for school lunches. So busily, that when she needed something from the cupboard beneath the catching tray, she wrenched open the cupboard without a thought. The door caught the bottom of the - now brimming - tray, which tilted suddenly and dispensed its contents. Over the sandwich lady, and indeed the entire kitchen. The little that didn't spill was catapulted into the air when the tray struck the worktop on its way down. The walls were running.

Gentle reader, I must draw a veil over both the painful recriminations and the vile smells....

Our massive investment in this ramshackle house began in September 2005.

After months of decline, UK house prices began to rise again in September 2005.

Coincidence? I don't think so.

Future graphs will include:

• 'Personal Bankruptcies in the South-East, 2006';
• 'Incidence of women found clubbed to death with Aga brochures';
• 'Frost-bite in the pre-teen years'
  

Now that she has a proper floor, Beatrice can get on with every childs' dream - a little light cleaning.

Notice too the very thick and highly insulating silver stuff. The temperature inside is begining to diverge from the temperature outside, at long last.

Wearing the house equivalent of a face-pack and curlers, but at least not looking like randomly stacked steel and bricks any more.

"I remember the cold, always cold; I remember the sense of futility: that we'd lost our way, and didn't know what we were doing or why we were there; but most of all, I remember the mud: mud everywhere, slippery and stinking."

Many had thought the extension would be over by Christmas. They were wrong.

Hurrah! The new bit is finally joined to the old.

Now Beatrice can just walk into her new bedroom.

However, if she does, she will fall through the floor, and break her neck.

The stupid child.

It is now possible to suddenly appear outside what was an upstairs window whilst someone is on the toilet, with hilarious consequences.

...about the fact that - no matter how much of the house is removed, and no matter how cold it gets - we still keep our toilet facilities going in the same way.

The only thing missing is the end of the toilet roll being folded to a point. I always think that's a nice touch.

And say goodbye to the walls, the ceiling and large parts of the roof. Yes, the bright bit at the top is the sky. If you squint, you can even see the roof of the house next door.

Fresh air is so much more economical than all of those nasty deodorizors, and of course it discourages those who were previously liable to settle in with a good book for hours. Now we just dump-and-go.

Standing in the kitchen, looking upstairs to where the landing - and indeed the roof - used to be.

Five minutes after this, it began to rain.

Still, it could be worse. We could owe the blurred bloke on the roof a whole load of money for doing this. Er...

After being shown her new room, Beatrice has put in a formal request to move into it immediately.

Apparently, it feels much warmer than the room she's currently in, and is a lot cleaner as well.

.. how you tease us.

And how right you are.

The work progresses towards completion, and dons an elephant-man mask.

"I am not a monster. I am an extension. I am entering into a dialogue with the existing building. I am respecting the local vernacular"

I fear that the days of gourmet meals are probably over, or at least temporarily suspended.

And the oven door is open since this is currently the only form of heating we have.

It's hard to care much about the mud and the lack of central heating when your friends invite you to "look after" their house - and all the lovely facilities therein - while they're away.

The only time we leave this hot-tub is to pop back to what we now consider to be our old house to feed the old chickens.

Ivor & Annie, we love you.

The builder recently asked us what we plan to do with the garden.

Hmmmm.... Bit less mud? More live plants? Fewer steel girders? Not so many toilets?

After careful consideration, we have concluded the following: we have absolutely no idea.

(Although the chickens will, of course, be retained)

It's snowing in Beatrice's new room.

Less amusingly, it's also below zero in Mummy and Daddy's current room.

It may be a building site, but we can forget all that, with a selection of sophisticated decorations.

Half-close your eyes and you could be at any of the stately homes of England.

The builders have packed up neatly, and gone away for Christmas.

And gosh, the house seems so big now they're gone.

We miss them already.

I'm not entirely postive, but it does seem that this steel bar is all that is currently supporting the entire house.

Still, not too windy right now.

The builders aren't here, which means I can play on the scaffolding without being told off.

Look at me. Look how high I am!

By the way, the land you can see at the back is where John Prescott plans to build an enormous "affordable" housing estate, with a chip shop, just as soon as we've finished our extension. Probably.

.. Beatrice can understand why we needed her to move out of her bedroom and into the spare room "just for a short while".

Walls, ceilings and large areas of roof have been removed. It's 2 degrees outside, and a chill wind is blowing through holes large enough to put your head through.

But Helen is wearing at least 5 layers of clothing, so she ain't bovvered.

The children are refusing to leave their beds.

Sat		Sun		Mon		Tue
Partly Cloudy		Mostly Cloudy		Showers		Showers
High 1 Low -1		High 2 Low -1		High 6 Low 1		High 5 Low 2

Is this what you want to see when some nice men have taken away a large part of a perfectly good roof, and replaced it with a single sheet of felt?

I don't think so.

First floor (second if you're non-British types) is begun.

The white wooden bit lurking sheepishly at the back knows its days are numbered. It will be in bits in a skip 'ere long.

And look, at the bottom of the picture: say farewell to grass-cutting misery with new, improved "sea-o'-mud". Kids (and hens and escaped rabbits) just love it.

Pretty much finished really, bar the floor, windows, ceiling and lots of expensive fittings.

And the radiator burns ones thighs at wipe-time too.

And you can even see where the doors and windows might go.

Gosh, its all going rather well.

In which the builders start the new, without first removing the old.

This is deliberate, as it prevents us having to live in our garden for the duration of the coldest winter since 1963

Dug up and put into a very-expensive-to-remove skip, that's where.

Arthur the Rooster of Very Little Brain realises something is amiss when the garden begins to disappear from beneath him.