Carry On Building

Update on the house front (the house we're building not the house we're currently wrecking):

Back, days before Christmas, Dave and I graced the Builders office clutching samples of tiles, cupboard doors, benchtops, bricks, roofing and toilet roll holders (important). Naturally we had planned our final choices by holding for and against question sessions, lively debates ('No, you can't have the bloody ensuite open to the bedroom, I don't want to see you trying to pee the letters of your name into the toilet bowl on a Monday morning, Natalie'), sneaking around showhomes of a Sunday afternoon slagging the designers in question (sometimes we mimicked Kath and Kim for effect. Noice, different, uneweusual etc). Obviously we had chosen our final designs months before the pre-start meeting (the D day of our build) so on the actual morning we decided to go and look at our choices.

Just to make sure you know?

In one hour we had changed our mind about everything except for the colour of the roof and the name of our first puppy dog (it remains to be Uncle Len...when we actually get around to rescuing one that is). So, as we entered the builders office, the sun slipped behind a cloud and we shuddered at the prospect of choosing all the 'Rest Of The Stuff'. We had been told that after the pre-start we weren't allowed to change ANYTHING. Not even a soap dish, not even the little stickers that proclaim 'H' and 'C' on the taps.

Were we ready for this? I had been told by people that I work with, that this meeting would go on for four hours. Thoughts about four hours of some Hitler type screaming 'Ja, zis von? Or nein, zis von? Vitch ez it? Das flamink galahz' at us whilst holding two slightly different doorhandles was almost too much for poor Dave. I thought I saw him stumble through the front door.

We were shown into an office where a ferocious aussie lady sat (believe me, the aussie birds can be extremely ferocious looking). She looked up and smiled sweetly and Dave and I collectively started breathing again (we'd be fine) and sat down. I refused her offer of a cup of tea on the basis that I would probably need it more after about an hour of deciding between two slightly different shades of white for the ceiling paint.

And so she started her onslaught. So thorough and fast was she that Dave and I found ourselves thrown out onto the pavement with 'dragged through the hedge' matching hairstyles within forty minutes. Four hours my arse!

After prestart, the customer has forty five working days to obtain finance, council plans, builders insurance and a builders licence. We weren't worried. That gave us until march (h- hmmm) to get it all. Flipping ages away!

So last week I had a phone call from the builders telling me we were dangerously close to our limit and to go harrass the council. After several calls to the council and listening to lots of cheesy pop music whilst on hold (how long does it take to get pop nonsense like Hiliary Duff out of your head?) , the guy on the other end of the phone lazily told me that they had an invalid insurance certificate seeing that it had the wrong address on it.

And there went my incomprehendable phone call to our dishy building consultant where the conversation went like this

Me: 'The insurance certificate you sent to the council had the wrong address on it'

Dishy Consultant: 'What? What are you talking about?'

Me: 'The insurance thingy? The council have it? You sent it? It's the insurance for the builders?'

DC: 'Nope. I have no idea what you're talking about'

Me: 'You know the certificate? With the insurance? With the wrong address?'

DC: 'Still have no idea. Ring me tomorrow'

Me: 'But it came from your company. It has your name on it!'

DC: 'No, I still don't know what you're talking about'

Me: Sorry, I'm on nights, maybe I'm delirious?'

DC: 'Yeah, maybe. Better go. Ring me tomorrow. I have no idea' (muttering to himself as he hangs up!)

He, of course rings me the next day to tell me he has discovered what I was talking about and he did indeed send the aforementioned certificate off with the wrong address! Not to worry my pretty little head about it all though cos he has it all in hand (what with him being dishy and a grown up!).

The result? I have no fingernails left after having some beauts for the last few months. Our licence didn't get through until the actual day our forty-five working days ran out. What DC didn't mention was that he would have sorted it out and we wouldn't have been liable for a fine if we were only a few days late anyway!

I would curse the aussie laid backness but DC is a flipping cockney!