Day Four - Appreciative August
For anyone who has lived in a house whilst it is being renovated, the final act of completing the renovation is something to be forever grateful for. And to be proud of, for it is a brave act and one that tests the very core of any stable and loving relationship, including that of your bank account and ability to select tiles together in relative harmony.
We did all of that just last year. In the middle of writing my book at home, I had plumbers jack-hammering the cement floor out of our 84 year old bathroom (ironically during my section on finding time for yourself and learning how to meditate), a doorway being cut through a solid brick wall, internal glass and doors fitted, external french doors installed, wooden floorboards laid, underground rainwater tanks dug and buried, painters everywhere and the never-ending responsibility of making sugary and milky coffees for literally every tradie that stepped over the threshold.
We're happy with the results though:
In fact I almost feel as though I'm too daggy to live in my own home. My trakkie daks and ugg boots make the place look untidy, let alone my unravelling knitting bag, dog-eared novels, coffee cups, finger prints and pet hairs.
We no longer have dinner to the sounds of "KER-THUNK" as random chunks of ceiling plaster crash to the floor or trip over the cracked laundry tiles that used to fetchingly lead right up to the kitchen in a wet version of the Yellow brick road. Nor do we have the laundry loo door doing a great impersonation of a public toilet with a one foot gap at the top and the bottom to allow sound amplication and viewing to occur.
Our bathroom is tiny (being the original one from 1924) but is now modern and functional. No more 1980s pink-and-brass fittings with a bath that was wider the doorframe and included a shower so awkwardly fitted that you had to stand on the edge of the bath to get a decent soaking.
After a couple of months of streaking outside in the dead of winter to use the Bianco cubicle, we now have a seriously large-n-luxurious shower, a toilet (not there before, which meant my 3am twinkle used to involve a tediously long trek to the back of the house into the freezing cold laundry), a heated chrome towel rail (luxury!), massive vanity unit and mirrored cupboard and some towels that are so fluffy our floors still look as though a Yeti's chucked a tantrum in there.
Home, sweet renovated home. The memories of noise, expense, mistakes, cement dust, mud, plumber's bum cracks, missed appointments, swearing, SAFM at volume knob number eleven and warped boards are a thing of the past. Pretty much.