Builders from Hell

I'm hoping this time next week we will have the house to ourselves. Not a builder, a scaffolder or painter in sight. This means there are still five more days to bite my tongue, grit my teeth and think of nice, calming things to stop myself doing something I regret. I'm sorry to talk about my builders. I bore myself just thinking about them. I just don't know how they are still here. How on earth has Chaz managed -about seven times- to talk me out of giving them their marching orders? It's a miracle they haven't sent me into premature labour.

I not sure what I'm most looking forward to about their departure. Maybe not tripping over some sort of lethal tool in the middle of the night a la poor Laura Ashley. Not opening the fridge to find they've finished all my posh Illy coffee. And also opened the spare one I'd hidden in the larder. "No, Soz, Kenco just wasn't hitting the spot today", being the response when I asked if he always used the cafetiere to make instant coffee.

Maybe being able to go for a pee in peace. Cub's newest game is to fling the door open as soon as I sit down on the loo and run off laughing.

As I write, it's 8am on Sunday morning and I'm making yet another cup of tea. This one is for the lovely Andy from Aberdeen. A Sky technician that we've had to call out because, guess what, the builders have smashed our dish and we need another one. Not only I am going to have shell out another million pounds but presumably all my recorded treats will have vanished too. The last Downtown Abbey, New Gossip Girl, Vampire Diaries.... All gone. Don't even think of mentioning this week's Celebrity Juice with Ant and Dec...

I've promised myself not to get wound up by them anymore and writing about them is getting me all a fluster. Time to stop. Instead I'm going to go and take some photos of our new beautiful, hand painted bathroom to show you and think nice calming thoughts. Maybe even start writing Christmas lists.

My Office

Hallway

Kitchen