Home sweet home – if only
It was a good plan. However, like all good plans it has gone somewhat pear-shaped.
As many of you know, I moved from Oxford up to North Wales and eventually found my dream cottage at the end of 2021. Dream – as in I could see the potential, but I knew it would require a lot of work to update and bring it into the 21st century (it was originally built in 1840 and had recently been occupied by an elderly lady for decades).
November 1st, 2021 – in came the builders with their list of what needed doing. As PTSD does not react well to noise and disruption, I continued to rent at another property and looked forward excitedly to a finished new home by February 2022.
Ha, well I hadn’t counted on the ineptitude, incompetence and downright lack of care by almost all of the suppliers providing the materials for the building project. As this was a large undertaking there had to be a small army of different firms employed and I have heard every excuse under the sun as to why they were unable to fulfil their promised orders (I’m just waiting for the ‘abducted by aliens’). Each may think it is just them asking for my patience and forbearance – multiply this tenfold over, the patience of a saint would be tested.
Even when orders did come in, nine times out of 10 there has been a problem with damaged goods, defective parts or the wrong thing entirely being sent. You’d think the suppliers in question would jump into action to sort out these discrepancies, but not a bit of it. ‘We’ve got your money so you can just go hang,’ seems to be the attitude out there. I definitely get the impression that there is also a bit of sexism going on in that I am a single, small woman they can pull the wool over the eyes of.
In trying to get the job finished, I must admit I have not caused waves yet… however, they will find out that there are consequences once we are finished.
By March 2022 my house rental was coming due for renewal and not wanting to commit to another six months, I began the planning towards moving in, following on from assurances that the house would be ready by the end of March.
Fat chance! My postponed date of removal/moving in at the end of April (just in case) arrived and the cats were packed off to a cattery for five days. I turned up at the new place and was aghast at what I found. The place was still a building site!
I kid you not. There are a couple of rooms (it’s a wee cottage) that I can’t even enter as the structure is not complete. I was lucky to have a working toilet by the time I moved in and relaxing in a hot bath is impossible at the moment (problem with the hot water supply and it leaks). Unpacking my boxes has also been impossible as there is nowhere to put anything. There are paint drips and plaster everywhere and it doesn’t matter how much I try and clean, the dust just resettles five minutes after I finish. I attempted to cook a decent meal in my kitchen and promptly bit into a lump of plaster that had somehow managed to get into it.
I have managed to set up a makeshift office (I work from home) but am completely unable to concentrate on work, however hard I try. It’s cold, I’m dirty and the thought of conducting business seems an uphill struggle I am unequal to at the minute. I am just about keeping a grip on my mental well-being though the PTSD depression keeps trying to assert itself. Physically I am suffering sleep deprivation – unable to drop off until the wee small hours and having to be up by 5am to be ready for when the builders arrive. My body won’t cope for long with the sort of abuse I am putting it under in terms of prolonged physical activity trying to get things done, but it will just have to bear with me and keep going though I’m on my maximum dosage of painkillers and feel generally unwell with every passing day.
Home sweet home
I have been forced back into a technique I have not had to use for over 20 years – Survival Mode.
I had to adopt this attitude when I was recovering from my rail crash injuries. It was the only way I believe I made it through and came back so well afterwards. I have never had to use it since that time…until now.
I have pulled my thinking back into 24 hours only at a time. There is no point thinking any longer at the moment as that’s where frustration, despair and breaking down lurk. I’m taking each day as it comes and blanking off the next day until I get there. I don’t envisage the finality of the project as I don’t want my hopes to rise – it’ll happen when it happens.
As the suppliers continue to play silly buggers and the builders seem to be unable to give me a full day’s work, I am trying to take each new delay, problem or disaster as matter of factually as I can and allow it to roll off my back (not always easy to do and there is a bit of teeth gnashing happening when things occur).
I have taken out the words ‘must’, ‘should’ and ‘now’ from my vocabulary as that just exerts pressure I simply don’t need at the moment. I am not making promises I know I might have to shift on, and work will have to wait until I can give it my proper and undivided attention. And, I am, quite frankly, ignoring anything else that demands my attention away from my goal which is to have the house finished and all tradesmen out of my premises.
And lastly I keep reminding myself – if I can survive an actual train crash, I can survive this.
(p.s. place wasn’t safe enough to get cats back for 3 weeks – they were not happy with me)
(p.p.s. I remembered I had written about the supplier problems I encountered over a year ago when I first moved from South-East England to North Wales. Reading over it I realised not much has changed a year later! Different problems but much the same behaviour and outcome)