Just call me Patricia

 We’ve lived here 10 days now and we are fitter, more exhausted and happier than we have been in a long time. We both have bruises all over us, have pains where we didn’t even know we had muscles, and are totally focused on getting the house to a state where we can start rebuilding.

Skip 2 is full and waiting to go and we know skip 3 will be required!

Ian is sorting electrics (having found this, everything needs checking), he’s making good the corners where we cut out walls, plastering and sanding, and replacing the coving in those areas mitring them (which seems mighty complex to me). 

He’s made a new loft hatch (the old one harboured some of the worst smells in the whole place) and loving the new tools!

However we have progressed from hazard suite to overalls, and I love mine. I now understand why Angel wears them all the time in ‘Escape to the Château’! I sent a photo to a friend and she said I look cute in mine – I’ll take that. 

I am stripping carpet gripper strips and wallpaper, and it is everywhere… it has been painted over several times with vinyl silk paint, and it does not want to leave the building! My trusty steamer is on overtime and my scraper is on overtime, but nothing, nothing is as painful to remove as the carpet gripper. I know, I know, what am I on about? Just pop it up, it’s easy, you’ve all done it. But not here, oh no, this stuff is welded to the floor, I’m telling you. I can’t get the screwdriver under it to get started and the nails, no easy pull nails here! No, oh no, we have the ones that grip, you know, that you can’t pull out, they hold on for grim death. I am in agony, my hands hurt so much, I have blisters and my back is screaming. Whoever put this down, had no intention of it coming out. I hate it! 

And Patricia you ask? That is thanks to Jane who edits this blog for for me. I've had an ear worm all day and it has conjured up many happy memories...   Those who were on the Ireland, or was it Scotland choir tour in the 80's will probably now be singing along too.

The house made of straw!

In our demolition we began to see what we thought was an early form of OSB (Oriented Strand Board), but it didn’t look right. As Ian hacked away at the wall in the kitchen he realised that the wall we were hoping to remove between the kitchen and living room wasn’t actually attached to the ceiling, so that’s good news, it isn’t a supporting wall.

But that OSB looked really odd…. and then I hear him shouting (I’m washing the ceiling in the bedroom) “Liz, Liz, the wall is made of straw”…….. I think he’s lost the plot, that mask has impacted his O2 levels…. but no, it really is straw… every internal wall is made of Stramit (basically glued together straw). Now, this is good news for removing a wall – and we later learn there are no supporting walls internally at all, but possibly not so good for fixing heavy items to walls and channelling cables, or fixing kitchen wall cupboards(!). We will have to work on that later and plans will probably change.

Just as we are discussing what this means for us, and how we can just take down the wall if only we have a reciprocating saw, we hear a “hello” from the front door (well the step – nobody comes in with this smell). A neighbour has popped by to introduce himself and see what we are up to, turns out he too has a bungalow of exactly the same design across the road and came to see if he can offer any help with tools etc, and mention the straw issue. Can you believe it? He has a saw and offers to lend it to us…. before you know it the wall is down and we have a very different home. By the end of the day 4 neighbours have been to welcome us, one with a bottle of homebrew strawberry wine, an offer of dinner and the opportunity to visit an open plan renovated bungalow to get some ideas of what we can do. 

People have been so lovely, even the postman, DPD and Hermes delivery folks stop for a chat (we have a lot of deliveries of building supplies!) welcome us and generally ensure we know we have done the right thing moving here. 

Within a couple of days - more demolition, excessive washing and painting the ceilings with oil based primer the smell is almost gone and we are exhausted! 

We're in, but not in, in.

It turns out our seller is on the 9am ferry, so we need to pick the keys up at 7.30, before the money transfers. Her removal firm were also due to be on that ferry, but are absolutely not going to make that, so we wait and let it sink in…. By noon the completion has taken place, we are alone in our new home and…. to be frank, it stinks! We can’t actually walk in the door and breathe. In fact Ian can’t go in at all really. We knew this, and had agreed in advance that I would go in, strip out the carpets, and do what I could to remove the really stinky bits, while Ian did the life admin of change of address etc.  We will be living in Agy on the drive for the considerable future.

With hazard suite on, I go in….. by 3pm most of the carpets are out and the skip has arrived.

By the end of day two Ian had removed most of the kitchen and the wardrobes and the skip is full.

For those of a sensitive disposition, maybe look away now and come back in the next blog……. 

We had researched removing smoke and tar from houses, so I start the next day on washing walls, floors etc. with bleach, then biological washing liquid. Sugar soap was not available when we needed it, but the washing liquid works too, it breaks down the enzymes and boy do the walls and ceilings leach…..

The next few blogs may well be more photos than words, as we crack on trying to get to a smell free home…wish us luck, our journey has begun!

What have we done?

No phone call comes, so that’s it. We don’t have a home except Agy, but that’s OK. She’s a great home and we will be OK. I have got through many a scary moment of uncertainty using my preferred technique of denial. Major surgery, unexpected life changes, job uncertainty, it works for me. Deal with it when it comes, for now just breathe.. I can do it again. 

My fabulous staff team colleagues gave me a gift when I left my job, they knew we were selling up, embarking on a new adventure and it was the perfect gift to keep me safe; it’s done a great job so far and I love it.  I’m confident we will be just fine on whatever journey life takes us on next. 

About 7pm Ian’s phone pings…. my heart is in my mouth, who is emailing now? At times like this Ian focuses on what he is reading, not telling me what it says. I’m a quick scan, blurt it out, then read properly person. Ian, no. He reads carefully, absorbs, then speaks. I am holding my breath, his face give nothing away, absolutely nothing!  I’m about to pass out from hypoxia and palpitations when he smiles………. his fabulous twinkly eyed smile I fell in love with all those years ago and am still lucky enough to see most days. It’s from our solicitor.  She’s had a response! Everyone is ready to exchange tomorrow and keep the same completion date! I don’t think Ian has ever replied so quickly. YES!  Just do it!

Our solicitor is amazing, they have been fabulous for both sale and purchase, and here she is at 7pm emailing us, making our day.

We need to call at 9am tomorrow to confirm we are both still happy to proceed, and we are up by 7am (a first in recent months) ready, coffee in hand, waiting for the time to tick by. We make the call and it is set in motion. About an hour later the seller calls, her *&^$#^&(please add an appropriate expletive of your choice here) solicitor has rung for her confirmation too. She told them in no uncertain terms, that they needed to get it sorted quickly and she had spoken to us (this always comes as a surprise to solicitors) and we all need this dealt with quickly to ensure all our sanity.

When the call comes, we miss it! We are in a shop with a metal roof, no phone signal is getting through that panelling. We are back food shopping, as we actually do need something for meals not just crisps and doughnuts. So another email reading heart stopping moment, and then he smiles……. I can’t quite believe it, we’ve done it! We will be living on the Island. We have a few days to completion and lots to do! We head to our new home Sandown for a last hurrah before the hard work begins.

I haven’t said much about the bungalow, because I was never sure it would absolutely happen, but now, it is real, so this is what we are heading into.

The biggest DIY project we have ever undertaken, that’s what we are heading to. The location is perfect, the size and structure great. The inside…. to say it needs work is an understatement. The current owner is a fabulous woman, we really like her, she is sharp, witty and house proud, but she has lived there many years and is a smoker, a very heavy smoker, there is no getting away from it, it is going to take a lot to get this to a state we can actually live in it and if we are (possibly) going to be back to bare brick, replacing everything, we may as well make it exactly as we would want it. We are planning for walls down, plumbing moved, possibly doors and windows changed, and where we can we will do it all ourselves (unless legally we can’t). We are on a budget, we can’t just throw money at it, so we have been researching, planning and I have been in total denial! We can build a kitchen from ply sheets, of course we can. I can rout out a cupboard door handle, knock down a wall,  move a radiator, rewire. Can’t I? Ian, he’s a whizz at these things, he renovated our little boat, plastered bits of our house, installed our kitchen several houses ago, and I’m fairly nifty with a tile/saw/screwdriver. Dad wouldn’t let me leave home without a tool kit and knowing how to use it. Thanks dad! For those who remember my very first home and the tiling catastrophe… I have significantly improved!

However, we need tools, we have some and they are currently in storage, but not on the scale we will need, and until we remove all traces of the smoke, PPE of a robust nature.  We won’t be moving in for a while. This is shopping in a whole different realm. What have we done?  

The longest week

We were due to exchange on our new home purchase 5 days ago but we didn’t; completion is due in 2 working days. We have been on the phone several times a day to the solicitor, seller, estate agent and nobody seems to know what is wrong – except…. the sellers solicitor isn’t responding to anyone, and is clearly the block. Its one of the big, very well known firms, that estate agent’s often recommend and they have a terrible reputation, they aren’t responding to anyone, nothing, not a dicky-bird. 

It’s really frustrating, we can’t stay on a campsite forever (many close for the winter), places are going into lockdown each week and we are stuck. We’ve been told everything is OK but it clearly isn’t! 

We go shopping for food and come home with more snacks and beer than meal components  (never go food shopping when anxious) and talk about what our options might be. We can push hard, pull out of the purchase and start looking again, or pull out and not bother. Living in Agy has been great, easy, relaxed and not at all stressful, so maybe we just stay in her – somewhere warmer than the UK in winter – and start looking again in the spring. House prices may drop, can we risk starting now and in 4 months time potentially end up ready to move but lockdown and in limbo again?   

We talk a lot, research long-term UK winter pitches; where can we go that is warmer and not on the Foreign Office list of no go areas? We had hoped for Spain, we have a booking for the Tunnel and campsite that was postponed from the summer we could use, but that’s on the ‘essential travel only’ list, so not an option. 

In the end, we decide we need to be honest and say we can’t keep waiting; we need to know so we can make an informed decision and manage our blood pressure. The unknown is always more stressful than the known, however bad, so we take a deep breath, make a call and follow up by email. If we haven’t exchanged by the end of today we will have to pull out of the purchase. Maybe this will make the sellers solicitor actually respond to their client or our solicitor. We need to know, our stress levels are through the roof. We go for a walk on the beach to try and calm our minds and wait. 

Washing and waiting (or the stuff shuffle)

And now we wait. We have no idea how long, we’ve discussed dates, but we can’t move forward. Something is holding the house move up again. We don’t know what and our solicitor is trying to find out, so we wait.

Life in a van isn’t all about sunny days and beaches, everyday things continue. The shopping (ok, it is more interesting when you are trying out new supermarkets) and working out what you can cook in a small space on a 2 gas ring hob, and cleaning. I like a nice tidy space, neither of us like clutter and trinkets, the removal firm, while on a video walk round the house call to provide a quote, suggested we were minimalists. I’m not sure I agree, but we don’t have ‘stuff’ everywhere. Some people love having things around them and there is nothing wrong with that, but we don’t. Plus I would get sick of dusting, who wants to dust so many things? In the van, space is restricted. However much we try, there is always stuff. There is such a thing as a van shuffle. Not just to get past each other in the choreographed dance moves that allow us to get to the cupboard we need, but the stuff shuffle. There is always a pile of something that moves around the van depending on the part of the day. It’s on the sofa over night, the passenger chair in the day, or possibly the bed as we drive. It’s a random collection of things, hoodies, magazines, kindles, a phone and maybe the odd packet of biscuits. It drives me mad, but it is part of van life.

The other thing is in a small space we seem to produce huge amounts of dust, and however hard we try, grass and dust is ever present, so a daily sweep is required. This week I managed to both cut my finger, knocking it on the corner of the cupboard (not realising I was bleeding until I wondered where the trail of blood covering the floor and bed sheets came from), and bruise my thumb. No idea how that happened, but it hurts!

And then there’s the washing up. I hate washing up. When I was younger I did a lot! We would often have loads of people over for meals, whether family gatherings or things related to dad’s job, our house often had 30 people for a buffet. Mum was in her element. I was not. A stroppy 15 yr old does not love washing up, but it was my job and I may have argued, but I always lost. I remember saying to mum during on of the marathon events, “when I have my own home the first thing I buy will be a dishwasher,” and I did. OK, it wasn’t the first thing, that was a bed, but I got the dishwasher before the sofa. Old garden chairs would do to sit on until I could save up. I was not doing any more washing up than I needed to. I've had one ever since.  I can’t be sure, but I’m fairly certain Ian hates it even more than me.

But now we have been in the van for just over 5 weeks, with no dishwasher (obviously). We may be having one-pot meals, but we still seem to create far too much. So it’s gloves on, off to the pot wash room and get on with it. That was working fine until the mosquito's moved in – we have been bitten to XXXXXX and they love the washing up room. It’s a comedy battle of washing, drying, swatting, jumping, and generally swearing to get it done. Washing up has just got a whole lot worse.  

The Oak tree and the Octopus.

Some days we just stay on site, we don’t need to be anywhere we are trying to keep our distance from most people, so we stay. It’s a lovely place to be. There are lots of oak trees here, but one is a constant in our daily lives. I think of it as the oak tree of opportunity, in fact that was the alternative name for this blog, you can decide if it would have been more inviting.

The oak tree of opportunity you ask? Why? Because it brings the opportunity for a hot shower, the beach, the laundry (it has to be done), we pass it to access all of these. When the site is quiet, we see the local wildlife: a pheasant a badger (it was 1am and Ian thoughtless didn’t take his camera on his late night loo trip) and less positively, a potential thump on the head from a falling acorn. It’s a beautiful tree and it makes me smile. To date, I have not been thumped, but there have been a few near misses.   

But what about the octopus? Well that’s a whole different subject. When you spend this long on the road, you need to do the washing. You can’t carry many clothes. So you need to wash them. There is a launderette on site, but it isn’t cheap and we only need a few things rinsing, so out comes the collapsible bucket. Who doesn’t wash out their smalls while chatting to the neighbours? They are scousers (new left hand neighbours) and he has a fabulous story for every occasion. I wash, we chat, beer is consumed, a less stressful wash-day has never been had. And the Octopus? She helps us dry it all. I love her… she’s practical, cute, folds up small and fun. Whoever thought about putting eyes on her was a genius! Ikea style in action.

The coast-less coastal path

It’s another sunny day, but it’s Sunday and parking Agy on a sunny day at the seaside isn’t always easy, so we decided to do a bit more coastal path, this time in the other direction. The path cuts straight through the campsite not far behind our pitch, in fact it goes directly behind the posh pitches. The flat gravel, with all your services on hand: water, waste disposal and your own electric point pitches, not this shared facility on grass with a slight slope that we have (to be fair we have our own electric hook up, but we share the post). I think I’d rather have ours, away from the fairly frequent walkers.

So off we go, away from the coast, but following the signs, down the lane and over the first stile. It’s a really rutted route from the tractor tracks, and on a rainy day this would be a quagmire, for us it’s just a potential ankle breaker. One again we are all alone except for the swifts. They are dancing, circling, sweeping down to drink from the puddles, calling to each other.  It’s years since I've seen them and it’s a wonderful sight. However, every so often we hear another sound – gunfire!

That is a tad concerning as we are trotting across the fields, but this is definitely the path. We pray they aren’t shooting at us and keep going. Several fields and lots of tempting blackberrys later we reach the road. This coastal path is a little deceitful.  As we head down the lane, criss-crossing to avoid certain death on the tight blind corners, we meet fellow walkers who overtake. They seem to be on a mission, rather than our amble. About half way to our final destination on the planned walk we come across the Sportsman’s rest. A pub, with inviting outside tables and it would be rude not to support the local economy, so in we go, masks on.

Why we hadn’t thought about it, I have no idea, but they are serving Sunday lunch and lots of locals are in… a good sign. Roast it is then!

We decide to sit outside and our fellow walkers are at the adjacent table. As always seems to happen, we get chatting, they are here on holiday walking the coastal path, the whole thing in a week, so yes, on a mission. They have a destination much further than ours and a cab waiting to take them to a B&B, so they just have a drink and on they go. Full of absolutely delicious lunch there is no chance of going further, we are far too full to walk miles, may as well head back. Sorry, no photo, too busy eating and wasp wafting.  

On the way back we spot a windsock, just a windsock, in the middle of a field. Nothing else. On closer inspection there’s a grass strip mowed into the field, a very short one, so not for aircraft, but clearly a runway.

With the swifts gone and the gunshots ringing we arrive back at the final stile, spot a huge bird of prey, but have no idea what it is – I need my brother for that, he knows his birds (so to speak) and we are back, happy, full and curious.  A quick google later and we discover a Reserve Forces MOD 'Danger Area' with a light arms firing range explains the gunshots and lack of coast for this stretch of the path. 

We’re far too full for a proper tea, so as you do, I rustle up some home made brownies and serve them hot with a choc ice – don’t judge, it’s what we had available!