New Loo

Our friend Steven refurbished the downstairs loo while we were away on holiday. You can probably make out the new water connection in the first photograph - £795 thank you very much - and the water meter disappeared into the garage.

At last - one room is finished - gorgeous isn't it? He's done a brilliant job and I could happily lock myself in there now and pretend the rest of the house wasn't happening. There's a slight problem with the cistern, which isn't attached to the wall and is still wobbling 12 hours later. Apparently these new toilets don't sit flush to the wall - all the Europeans are doing it, which presumably means they're all balanced precariously on the edge of their seats. Anyway, we're not European - we're British, and we Brits require more stable toilet arrangements than your averge Italian, so we'll have to find a solution. Until then, I'm not sitting on it.

As an added bonus, I notice the council has replaced the street lights while we've been away, which is ironic since I jokingly mentioned them to the planning officer as he was leaving last Thursday and asked whether the council might ever consider replacing them. The old one shone into our bedroom, the new one shines down onto the pavement, which is far more useful. I'm certain he had nothing to do with it - but it's the cherry on the cake.

The Longest Week

I knew that our project would have its ups and downs, but the last week has been unbelievable.

It began last Wednesday. We were a week away from a decision on our planning permission and we still hadn't had a site visit from the officer in charge. Dr B telephoned the planning department to explain we were about to go away on holiday and would be away during the decision date and enquired whether they might like to come and have a look while we were still available to let them into the house.

The planning officer said he'd probably come out with the council tree officer. Dr B referred to the tree survey - the officer admitted he'd never read it. You heard that right - he'd never read it. He'd set the project back 8 weeks, he'd consulted our neighbours about its contents but he'd never actually read it himself.

I could have cheerfully wrung his neck, but mindful of the need to 'keep him sweet', we arranged for him to come and have a look on Thursday morning - which was bad timing as Ella had a friend over to play for the morning, which meant I had to bribe them with chocolate to keep them quiet.

So the officer turns up with his tree man. I asked him why he'd brought the tree officer and he said he didn't always believe what was written in tree surveys. By now, my blood was boiling but I was still managing to smile and keep my hands from around his neck. He stood in the back garden with his clipboard and pointed out all of the other things we could have done rather than extend over the garage, which is odd when you see the amount of space over the garage just dying for an extension and the space across the back of the house that we really don't need to enlarge.

The tree officer advised that the trees were no problem - but we already knew that. The planning officer climbed onto the coal bunker to look at the neighbour's garden, which wasn't quite as close to our house as he'd previously thought - the neighbour's house being slightly higher up than ours, which he'd failed to appreciate despite us telling him on the phone. And then he came into the house.

Now bear in mind, this guy is employed to interpret plans - we're standing at the window of bedroom 3 and I'm showing him the view over the house backing onto our western boundary - the house you can't actually see because of the trees but who's owner has objected to our plans on the grounds we might be overlooking him. And this planning officer is continuing to tell me what else we might do once he's refused the planning permission (which I've pinned him down on - yes, he's going to refuse it) and yet despite this, he insists he's standing in bedroom 2 and he argues the toss quite vehemently until I'm forced to virtually drag him onto the landing and show him he's wrong, at which point he concedes he's mistaken.

And this goes on for quite some time, with him waxing lyrical about how we could knock down our porch and create a useless bedroom on the front lawn. Anything rather than extend over the garage. I gave up in the end. 'We'll have to beg to differ,' I said. 'We'll run with these plans - you can refuse them - we'll appeal.'

'An appeal takes eight weeks,' he says. 'If you just amend the plans as I'm suggesting, it will be much quicker.'

'But I don't like your suggestions. They are nothing like the plans we submitted. And anyway, a resubmission will take another 8 weeks so we might as well go for what we really want.'

'I could rush your plans through,' he says. 'It shouldn't be the way, but it's a case of he who shouts loudest. And I've never lost a case at appeal.'

Now this is odd, because I'm pretty sure our architect has told us that he was locked in a planning appeal with this particular planning officer not so long ago, and the appeal was allowed. I'm also lost for words that he's being so unprofessional as to trot out 'he who shouts loudest' to a punter. And what with him admitting not having read the tree survey, (which was never made available to view with our plans, as it ought to have been) and not believing tree surveys anyway, I'm starting to build quite a portfolio against the way this case has been handled.

'We'll go to appeal.'

'Well perhaps you can build over the garage afterall,' he says. The council don't like appeals - they cost time and money to administer and they are supposed to explore every other avenue rather than allow things to get that far. They are supposed to offer amendments to your plans - which is what this man thinks he's doing.

'So we can build the width and the height?'

'Yes but you need to set it back from the front elevation.'

'If we do that, we can't fit the bathrooms in.'

'I'll refuse it if you don't set it back.'

'On what grounds?'

'It would be detrimental to the street scene and to the original dwelling.

Now at this point I'm laughing because the existing house is so ugly that there's nothing you could do that would make it look any worse. And the neighbouring houses are set forward in the same way, which I point out, but he says is irrelevant because they haven't been extended.

'Ring me on Monday,' he says as he leaves. I rang a local councillor instead. I drove around the estate taking photographs of similar extensions and photographs of our 'street scene' and emailed them to myself for safe keeping. And then we went to Center Parcs.

Now I don't know whether you've been to Center Parcs at Longleat, but it's very hilly and very woody and as you can imagine, there's no mobile phone signal. Fortunately there's Wi-Fi internet connection and luckier still, we'd taken a laptop, so I was able to communicate with this councillor and our architect via e-mail, which I did every night for a week.

The councillor listened to our woes and asked for a resume of events over the last 16 weeks (planning permission taking 8 weeks, as you know). I supplied the resume. I also emailed the planning officer and his manager, the head of planning, attaching relevant photographs and arguing the case for our planning permission being allowed.

The head of planning emailed the councillor. The councillor asked for the decision to be suspended pending some sort of investigation, or else that the application be 'called in' and presented before the committee, at which I would have to present the case myself. The architect was steadfast - we were set for an appeal.

The decision date came and went. We continued to play mini-bowling and slide down the rapids and pretend all was well but my stress levels were through the roof. The planning officer still hadn't written his report and therefore hadn't made a recommendation. He'd read my email but it hadn't changed his views - he still planned to refuse it, but the head of planning was on leave and he'd been told to hang fire. Two more days went by.

We drove home from Center Parcs three days after the decision had been due, cheking our emails all along the motorway, chewing lips, wondering what was happening. Half an hour after we arrived, we received an email from the head of planning. They were approving our plans. They didn't like them but they would approve them.

Victory. Onwards!

Spores

Goodness, I'm fed up today. With our planning decision due next Tuesday we phoned our architect-type, who thought the due date was a whole week later that it is. The planning officer still hasn't been out to inspect the site and with the decision only a week away, we're off on holiday this Friday so bang goes his chance of gaining access to the rear of the property to take a look.

'I've emailed the planning officer but he hasn't replied' says architect-type. 'And I've e-mailed his wife to see if he's actually in work this week.'

We rang the planning department ourselves, who confirmed that the decision is indeed June 7th and that our planning officer is indeed on annual leave. Perhaps it's a good sign - perhaps he's not bothered about taking a look - though it would be useful if he did because our complaining neighbour's house is hidden entirely by the newly-blossomed trees and can no longer be seen at all - so much for invading his privacy.

One of the quoting builders made an appointment to see us last night, which was a bank holiday. It was his thrid visit and he came armed with a quote for which he'd consulted a professional estimating service at a personal cost of £150. We really like this builder and he comes on personal recommendation, but his professional estimate puts him £60,000 above the cost of other builders tendering for the work and we simply can't afford to use him. Now Dr B feels guilty about him spending £150 on the estimate and thinks we ought to pay him or at least offer to meet him halfway, which I'm sure he'd accept but I'm not sure is the right thing to do in the circumstances. £150 is £150 - we never said he had the job and he never said we had to pay for the quote.

Anyway, in my frustration at all this waiting, I've started peeling at the manky wallpaper in the downstairs loo - it's full of disgusting spores as you can see. This time next week, it'll be gone. At least something is moving.

Springing

Four months after we arrived, spring's almost finished and we're beginning to see the garden unfold. The lawn's looking a bit greener since we had it scarified, though it's still patchy and I've spent hours removing the weeds by hand.

Last Friday we had Peter the gardener around for a chat. Peter's been looking after this garden for some time, so he knows its history. Apparently that path led to a bird table which eventually became unsafe and had to be removed. To the left of the path was a huge flower bed filled with roses but completely over-run with weeds and grasses which was eventually filled in with turf. The trees at the back are a laburnham and a crab apple tree, though you can hardly make the apple tree out for that massive gum tree behind it. The apple has just finished blossoming. You can't eat crab apples, only make chutneys and sauces with them, which is a shame (why plant a crab apple tree? plant an apple tree!).

We've got to wait for the hedges to finish flowering then he'll come back and shape them all for us (we tried it ourselves but couldn't reach the top - no idea how Peter will reach and he's not giving anything away when we ask - extending trousers perhaps). The grass to the right of the path will be removed and turned into a barked children's play area for the dreaded trampoline/swing/slide combination. It's hardly what I'd choose for the garden but there's enough garden left so that it won't have too huge an impact and after all, the kids were the reason we wanted this garden. Still in denial about the trampoline though....

Brew Count

I wonder how many more of these I'll be making over the next 12 months? Our last project involved five builders, who were furnished with several cups of hot tea every day for eight months (not to mention their favourite 'Happy Faces' biscuits, teacakes, baked potatoes, soup, calor gas heater in the winter and cold beer in the summer).

Unfortunately for us they fell out quite spectacularly with our neighbours (who's house they were extending simulataneously) so all the brewing up and provision of toilet facilities fell to us - as did the plugging in of power tools to work on nextdoor's house, such was their reluctance to knock on the door and speak to them. Anyway, it worked in our favour in the end because our hospitality earned us several 'free' jobs including the laying of a patio and the laying of a quarry tiled floor in our hall. There's a lesson in that.

Dig

After weeks of NOTHING happening to the house and garden, two developments this week, though neither of them particularly rewarding in terms of the finished product.

Today we have Mole Engineering burrowing a hole under the front garden to replace the water pipe that connects us to mains up on the street (if you click on the photographs, they come up bigger). Their work is supposed to be 'trenchless' so I was surprised to see them unloading a spade this morning and that looks suspiciously like two trenches they'd dug. Still, I'm not bothered about the lawn and it's half the price quoted by the (distinctly trenchy) utility company, who still want £60 to come out and inspect that the relocated water meter has been finished to their standards.

Tomorrow my brother-in-law arrives with some tools to start laying hard standing at the top of the garden. The kids are having a playhouse and it's already got a name. I'm secretly plotting gingham curtains.

Water Pipes

So! The window's been installed - we're ready to confine this aqua bathroom suite to history, right? I mean, how hard can this be?

Another weekend, another builder - though this time it's a builder who's been here before and seems a little un-nerved about the size of the project so he's chosen to return with his electrician and plumber for the purposes of giving a more accurate quote. These hours spent explaining the job to builders is beginning to wear me down. They all need full-scale plans, which have to be ordered from the local printer at additional cost - they all need specification, pencils to chew.

John the Builder's plumber shakes his head when he hears we're replacing the downstairs loo. The water pipe from the street enters the house behind the loo, the pipe's too thin to support the sort of water usage modern families enjoy - it needs to be replaced and it needs doing before we tile the room, especially if we'd like it relocated to the garage.

We phoned the local water company - they'll replace the pipe but they dig up your garden and they charge by the meter, which, given that we've about a squillion metres between our house and the main road - well it's going to cost (about £1500 to be exact). The alternative is Mr Mole. Mr Mole bores a hole under your garden for about £600 and gets the water company to connect him up to the mains. Bingo. Hes coming out tomorrow to inspect the site, though I'm not sure he'll have much luck because moles are blind, as everyone knows.

I'm beginning to think we're saddled with the aqua toilet forever.