Tiles And The Consequences Thereof

Paul has finished the tiling in the bathroom. Doesn't it look great? All that needs to happen now is to tile the side panel of the bath and fix the shower in place.

It's going to be a tall shower. One of the saddest sights I have ever seen is a 6'5" Dutchman folded into a UK shower cubicle with his head bent against the ceiling. It was supposed to be a steam/sauna/massage facility and he couldn't even get hot water. There will be no such cruelty to our taller European cousins in my little house. Simple shower controls, sliding shower bar set high.

It has occurred to me that these tiles may in some way be responsible for the baby. Faced with a gleaming array of ceramic joyousness, I find it impossible to make a decision, so I took my tall friend along. Partly for company, partly for his capacious boot and partly to stop me spending the entire day going "Um..." in the tile section of Castorama. I think there's a very real possibility that this gave off mixed messages and my body mistook my solo renovation project for a nest-building exercise and reacted accordingly.

I never planned to exchange shabby chic for babby chic, but having had a little time to get used to the idea, I am of course delighted. And terrified. Come September, I shall be properly resident in France, and negotiating the French maternity system. I've managed it with the Mairie and permission for the échafaudage, I'm sure I can work out how to give birth in French.

One thing gives me cause for concern: M. le Maire is also M. le Docteur. I hope he's good at changing hats.

Thank Goodness For Friends

It's my last day. I have spent the day in a pretty frock tying up loose ends and toasting myself and my friends with champagne being very very glad I'm not in London with all those ghastly people in my back yard.

THINGS I HAVE ACHIEVED SINCE MY LAST POST:

3 coats of xylophene on my poor timbers.

2 bolts on the back door to the courtyard.

Wall paper stripped off in stairwell and bedroom.

Mouldy black blooms gone gone gone.

Walls cleaned with lessive du pin & treated with anti-fungal spray

Credit where credit is due, the above wouldn't have been possible without the help of Andy D. He turns up with a car-load of tools wearing the blue overalls favoured by all serious bricolageurs.

Note to self: Get some. Blue overalls that is. Tools can be borrowed.

He does all the complicated stuff like fixing the bolts, opening and pouring the MASSIVE can of xylophene, and puts my efforts with paint-stripper and a scraper to shame with some angle-grinder/sander behaviour that looks and smells jolly dangerous but cleans up the beams a treat.
I am not faint hearted. I AM going to learn to do all this stuff myself and I am perfectly capable of doing so, but one needs

a) the right equipment
b) more time
c) blue overalls

Paul starts on Monday. I have permission on paper from the Mairie for him to erect un échafaudage (scaffold tower) in the street outside my house. Hurrah for my first successful foray into French bureaucracy!

I just hope he remembers to wear his blue overalls.