Ache Rattle and Roll - Renovations Interrupted

It has been some time since I wrote a blog. This is for a couple of reasons;

One; We have had visitors over the summer for several weeks. This has been wonderful of course, but has led to weight gain, lethargy and general idleness in relation to all things relating to our renovation, here in Brittany.

 Two; I hurt! No wait ............ we both hurt!

A great time with dear friends

The realisation that my body had begun to betray me in the worst possible way kind of kind of crept up on me.

I used to be a very fit person. I left school at 16 years of age and went to work in a racing stables, where their idea of keeping the gals fit for duty, included tying lead weights to your legs and making you run everywhere – I kid you not, they really did that. Never occurred to me to complain!  I used to ride 5 or 6 lots of fizzy racehorses 6 days a week, plus all the mucking out, grooming etc that accompanies caring for horses. My career continued in other yards, as did my fitness.

I had three children and boinged effortlessly back into shape once I went back to the stables and worked it off.  My weight hardly ever crept over the 8 stone 2 mark and I was always a size ten.

The rot began in my mid 30’s when I ceased my outdoor work and went to University (I was a late bloomer) and qualified as a children’s social worker.  Contrary to popular belief, children’s social workers are not out there snatching children day and night – though it WAS part of the job. No, most of the time, you will find us in an office, behind a desk, trying to get to grips with the latest version of the software they have given us. We are the ones peering at the screen, squinting and usually cursing.

As any office based worker will tell you – there is always cake and there are always biscuits in there. It’s kind of an unwritten law. Often, no one knows how they get there – they just manifest on the spare desk in the office and you scoop them deftly up as you pass, saying, “When these are gone I’m not eating any more cakes”. This statement is accompanied by hysterical laughter from your colleagues; at which, you become offended and say, “What? I mean it” knowing full well that you will fail in your resolve the moment the next chocolate brownie appears.

It doesn't help living in France where these delicacies are so yummy

Anyway, that’s when it all began. I gained weight at a horrifying rate. Can I just pause here to ask why I can gain several pounds in less than a week, and yet to lose that same amount of weight it will take me at least a month? Why is that? 

My clothes became tighter, and after making a feeble attempt to chase an errant 14 year old who had escaped from his foster placement, I also realised how unfit I had become. This particular episode ended with me trying to save face and saying, “I’m not chasing you Ryan” (Why are they always called Ryan?) and standing still trying to look professional and not gasp for air, while hoping at the same time that my pelvic floor had held.

I joined several gyms at various times; it always ended badly - with me aching more than ever and feeling an abject failure as I tried in vain to work out surrounded by younger fitter bodies. I also never got to grips with that early morning workout, followed by a shower in an overheated changing room, which left me sweaty, cross and, with all those full length mirrors, more disillusioned that ever!

I then noted a deterioration when I was getting out of bed in a morning. I’m fairly certain that this simple task never used to be accompanied by sound effects! I sounded like my grandmother – a lot of old lady type oohin and ahhing as I straightened up, along with comments as to the current state of my back. Something like this;

Oooh my back’s aching this morning I don’t know what I’ve done. I didn’t really do anything yesterday did I? Why should it ache like this? Ouch that really hurts.

The above statements are made as I make my way to the bathroom, walking in a manner resembling a slightly disabled hermit crab, while emitting more sound effects.

Sigh.

The next thing to betray me were my fingers. Once so nimble, plaiting 2 or 3 horses in less than an hour in readiness for the races, typing quickly, making pastry and much more. Suddenly, they ached. I would wake up in the night flexing both hands open and closed in the vain hope that it would effect a cure.

It didn’t.

Steve was in no better a state. He too has always been fit and well. Ex-military, karate, running, boxing, and building – the man was fit! Suddenly, that had all changed and we would have the most unromantic conversations in the middle of the night which went something like this;

Me; Do your hands ache?

Steve; Yes, they do, both of them actually. I don’t know why. Perhaps it’s all that drilling I did the other day – flex flex

Me; Yes, maybe that’s it. I wonder why mine are aching so much – flex flex

Steve; My knee’s hurting too – bend bend

Me; Oh no, really? I thought that was getting a bit better – flex flex

Steve; No, if anything it’s worse – bend, bend, flex flex

You get the picture!

I recalled my mother speaking words of doom as she warned me darkly of things to come, the things I could apparently look forwards to as an “older” person. “You wait till you’ve got all these aches and pains” she would mutter as she walked in a now depressingly familiar crab like manner holding her back. “It comes to us all” she predicted gloomily. 

I refused to admit she was right, and continued in my flexing, oh and the taking of supplements.

This is a new thing, and something I thought was reserved for people who read over 50's magazines and shop at Marks and Spencer’s or Holland and Barrett (ok ok I shop at them both). I began scouring the Internet for answers to the achy finger issue. Ha! Here, this is clearly what we need – Cat’s Claw. Not literally the claw from a cat you understand, but a supplement called Cat’s Claw. I sent for some of course, along with Omega 3 oil and other marvelous little pots of promise.

Steve and I then had slightly different, but no less romantic discussions;

Me; Do your fingers feel any better since we’ve been taking those tablets? Flex flex

Steve (looking thoughtful while flexing) Hmm, not sure, maybe a little

Me; I can’t tell; my fingers still ache

Steve; Mine do too, but maybe we’ve not taken them for long enough – flex flex

Me; Yes, I’m sure you’re right, we’ll have to keep taking them and hope they work – flex flex because my fingers really ache.

And so it goes on. The treacherous aching fingers, the horribly creaky backs, Steve’s knee, which in reality needs surgery, but as our French health cards have yet to materialise, this is a vain hope. With a poignant smile, I recall the days when we could refer to our knees as the left one and the right one, instead of the good knee and the bad knee!

I have also developed problems with my shoulders and arms aching – this is not least due to the fact that our beloved rescue dog Merlin pulls like a steam train on a downhill track. I mutter at him as he propels me along, “No wonder I ache with you wrenching my arms out of their sockets five times a day”. He wags and keeps going, certain that I am enjoying the hunt as much as he is 

Our beautiful Griffon Bleu De Gascogne, Merlin

And so, we press on, Steve with his knee support, me with my huge leather gloves for extra grip on the steam train hound. We take our supplements, we flex and we hope improvement is around the corner.

Steve keeps on going

Some aspects of getting older are no fun at all, but as a dear friend of mine always reminds me, the alternative is not so attractive, so we’ll be grateful for what we do have rather than lament the failure of our once fit and well bodies.

Ah well, I’m sure it’s time I took some tablets

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My latest book Caught in Traffick is now available via Amazon. The book is the sequel to my bestselling debut book, Known to Social Services. Set in Thailand and focusing on the organised crime of child traffickers; Caught in Traffick takes a fictional, yet horrifically realistic glimpse into the dark underworld of the ruthless traffickers.

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Merlin the Hound Dog is a short story about our rescue dog, available as a download via Amazon

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www.freyabarrington.blogspot.com

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Thanks for stopping by

Freya 

Mind Your Own Business; or what NOT to say when helping with renovations

As many of you are aware, Steve and I are renovating an old house in the Cote D’Armor region of Brittany. Of course, I use the term, “Steve and I” loosely as it is Steve who is doing the bulk of the work. With years of experience in building, electrics, plumbing, carpentry and a host of other Hard Jobs (Capital H, capital J there) he is without a doubt a man of immense talent and skill in this field. He can put a fitted kitchen together, without so much as a glance as the instructions. He can fix just about anything that requires fixing and has come up with more ingenious ways to get round a seemingly insurmountable problem than I can recall.

Steve putting the kitchen units together - instructions were not required!

The beginning of another Hard Job

Yikes is all I have to say

Yep, the man’s good.

I, on the other hand, have no discernible DIY skills whatsoever. I have no idea how to change a fuse, put on a plug or any other remotely basic household tasks of that nature. I stand in open mouthed awe at Steve’s efforts and am unceasingly amazed at the results he has achieved in a few short months.

My stunning kitchen only a few weeks after Steve made a start on it

THIS is how it looked before Steve got to it




I am however a useful gopher, a cleaner upper, and most importantly, I make excellent egg custards. The fact that an egg custard has, to my knowledge, never been usefully applied in any DIY task is immaterial. They are an integral part of the process and have to be eaten on a regular basis if success is to be attained J Failure in this culinary area might well result in the universe as we know it disappearing down a black hole. 

My little egg custard tarts - yes I know there's one missing, someone has to test them and Mikey wasn't here

What I AM good at is mixing plaster (who knew). Our battles with the French plaster have been documented in a previous blog, so I won’t repeat myself here. Suffice to say, I have conquered the art of mixing French plaster, which affords me a modicum of status and a (slightly) begrudging recognition from Steve as the best person for this particular job.

I AM good at plaster mixing, but tend to end up wearing most of it

Now in any renovation project of this scale, challenges are inevitable, and have to be overcome. What I have discovered is that when Steve hits a problem, there are certain things, which must never be said; suggestions, which must never be offered, and advice, which under NO circumstances needs to be given.

I have written this blog as a guide for others (OK, other women) who may find themselves in a similar position. A kind of quick reference for correct responses if you like. Ladies, take heed, it may save a lot of heartache.

Scenario Number One – The Leaky Tap

“I’ve got a leak” announced Steve one day.

I immediately adopted, what I felt was a suitably downcast expression to demonstrate my solidarity.

“Oh no” I mourned, “Where?”

“Small bathroom” came the terse response. “I’ll have to sort it this morning, so the water will be off for a while”

“Okay” I said in a completely understanding tone, “Not a problem”.

The minutes ticked by. I could hear the sound of tinkering, clattering and the obligatory muttering which always accompanies such Hard Jobs.  After ten minutes, I approached ……..

Pipes pipes and more pipes

Lesson Number One; Offer No Sympathy

When your husband is fixing a tricky leak in the small (or any other) bathroom, DO NOT stand at the door like a sympathetic mother hen and ask, “How’s it going?” No matter how compassionate you sound, and regardless of your well-meaning support, it is absolutely NOT required or welcomed at this point.  It will only result in a sharply and rather crossly spoken, "WHAT?" as he bangs his head coming up to hear what you're trying to ask him. 

You will be advised of “How it’s going” when the job is completed and NOT a moment sooner.

Scenario Number Two – Awkward Wiring

“Right” said Steve with determination.

I knew that tone and immediately felt anxious, knowing that my assistance was required in some capacity.  I secretly hoped it was not plaster. 

“What’s up?” I asked brightly hoping he would just ask for a cup of coffee and leave me out of it.

“See these wires?” he said indicating a mutinous looking tangle of red, green and yellow wires dangling from the ceiling.

“Yes” I affirmed, my anxiety increasing by the minute.

“Well, I need you to hold THIS one, don’t touch THAT one and feed me THESE ones through that hole when I say so”

I eyed the hole and looked back at the wires and made my error ……

Wiring hell - to me anyway

Lesson Number Two; never question his judgement on what will go where

When your husband has given what he feels are clear instructions on what you are required to do to assist him in getting the Job done, do not utter the words,

“Are you sure all those wires will fit through that hole?”

When I made this rookie mistake, Steve adopted a pained expression, shook his head and sighed.

“This is not my first rodeo” he said with what I felt was an unnecessary edge of sarcasm. “Of COURSE they’ll fit”

Questioning his good judgement in such matters is highly improper in terms of DIY etiquette. I might as well have said,

“You’re wrong you know, you have no idea what you’re doing. Those wires aren’t going to fit through that hole”.

They fitted.

He knows EXACTLY what he's doing thank you

Scenario Number Three – The Unfinished Job

Steve is always busy. He might have a dozen or more jobs on the go at any one time. Here’s a bit of useful advice in regard to those unfinished little jobs you might observe around the house.

A hundred and one jobs on the go at any one time

Steve had been working on some really difficult plumbing. He had put an en-suite bathroom in our bedroom, where there had previously been NO bathroom at all. Consequently, he had to create ALL the plumbing necessary for the sink, shower and toilet. I can tell you from having watched him do this, that it is no mean feat and takes a lot of time, effort and thinking. I would see him in the evening sitting staring into space “thinking” about his plumbing Job. Holes were made, pipes were fitted, connections were joined up and slowly, the complex network of plumbing took shape. By necessity, it had to come down through the floor in order to hook up with main drains and away. This meant that a big fat pipe was running along the ceiling in the living room.

I had to do it, I had to open my big mouth ……

Steve's Hard bathroom Job

Lesson Number Three; do NOT ask obvious questions

Casting a critical eye at the fat pipe in the living room I asked,

“Are you boxing that big fat pipe in?”

Sigh

Steve’s response?

“No, I thought I’d leave it like that and have it on display. Of COURSE I’m boxing it in” – there's that sarcasm again.

Me (in small voice) “Sorry”

THE big fat pipe

Big fat pipe now boxed in and being painted over

Scenario Number Four – The Uncooperative Dishwasher

We had purchased a 2^nd hand dishwasher from one of those Facebook sites. The people we bought it from were very nice and assured us that it worked perfectly. Indeed, the inside of it was all wet where the man had given it a test run before we came. 

We bought it.

After a bit of thought, Steve decided to put my washing machine under the stairs, so I could have the dishwasher in the kitchen. Yes of course, that was the practical thing to do. I mean, who wants a dishwasher under the stairs? So, after some wrestling with the washing machine, and some not so strenuous manoeuvring of the dishwasher, Steve went to plumb it in.

It wouldn’t work L 

I bit my lip, looked worried and tried so hard not to speak, but I couldn’t help it; it just came out.

Sorting yet more plumbing

Lesson Number Five; do NOT use a tone of voice usually reserved for four year old children

I could see Steve’s frustration beginning to mount as the dishwasher refused to cooperate.

“Try again” he said tersely after another attempt to rectify the problem.

I tried – it made the right sound, but no water was going in.

“It’s not working” I said unhelpfully stating the obvious.

Steve dragged the reluctant machine out once again and seeing how annoyed he was, I made another clumsy attempt to be helpful. Adopting a soothing tone, which I would normally reserve for children around the age of four who have fallen and bumped their knee I said,

“Never mind, leave it for now. I’m sure you’ll work it out in a bit”

I can almost hear the audible gasps and sharp intakes of breath at this most offensive of faux pas. In my misguided effort to “help” I had committed a cardinal sin, no TWO cardinal sins;

-         I had said “never mind”; not only did Steve mind, he minded so much he was prepared to stay there all week if he had to in order to conquer this Hard dishwasher Job.

-         I suggested he “Leave it for now” – I might as well have said, “Obviously, you can’t fix this, so why not leave it alone and we’ll get someone in who knows what he’s doing”

My transgression was instantly apparent from the look on his face. With only slightly clenched teeth he spoke slowly and quietly,

“I CAN fix it, I know EXACTLY what the problem is, I just don’t have the right fitting”. He then went into a long (unnecessarily long I thought) explanation of how the water pressure was affecting the flow of the water, so it wasn’t reaching the dishwasher, and how he needed a special valve to address this.  Anxious to make amends, I nodded enthusiastically and said “I see” a lot, when I didn’t see at all.

One trip to Bricomarche later to get the valve and hey presto – dishwasher working perfectly, as he always knew it would J

One dishwasher in perfect working order

Scenario Number Six; the busy busy man

It is important to understand that when a man is as busy as Steve, he is focused, he is determined, he has a plan. He does NOT want to be diverted from that plan by non-stop offers of food or drink and he especially does not need to be called away to watch the latest funny video of a cat on Facebook L

On this particular day, Steve had many Hard Jobs on the go. He was knocking a door through from one room to another, raising startling amounts of dust and debris. 

Knocking the door through. I turn a blind eye to the dust!




He was still tinkering with the plumbing, and had the removal of a staircase on his mind. 

The staircase that had to come out was on his mind






The weather here in Brittany was warming up, and I had all the windows flung wide open. This was all well and good, but as is often the case, we had many uninvited flies in the house. I loved to have the back door open too, but being in the kitchen, the flies were too much of a problem. But I was too hot, and so came yet another blunder.

Lesson Number Six; do NOT divert a busy busy man

I collared Steve as he passed through the kitchen.

“I know you’re busy darling, but you couldn’t just fit me that fly screen so I can have the back door open could you? It’s awfully hot”

Now, like most men, Steve likes a challenge. He was busy; so very busy, but his woman had made a request of him and had used the words, “You couldn’t just”……….. The caveman in him took over. He COULD just, and he would do it before she could repeat the words, “It’s awfully hot”.

“Right” he snapped in a Basil Fawlty way; “Get the mesh”.

I scuttled off and got the roll of mesh we had bought for such a purpose. He measured it with steely eyed determination, thrust it back at me and demanded I cut it where he indicated.

I did so, knowing by now that I really shouldn’t have asked him to do this, while he was so busy with other Jobs. I tried to back track.

“If you’re too busy, leave it for now, do it another time, honestly, it doesn’t matter” 

Foolish woman, there you go again saying it doesn’t matter.

All I got was a raised eyebrow and “The look”. 

I kept cutting.

Steve went outside; he hammered, sawed, nailed and muttered. In less than one hour, he had constructed a temporary, yet perfectly functional fly screen. The back door could be open all day – yey.

“It’s only temporary” growled Steve darkly, “I’ll do it properly when I have more time” he added pointedly as he returned to his Hard, and far more important Job of knocking a door through.

I just about got away with it, but it’s never a good idea to disturb an already busy man, especially one who is beginning to resemble a grubby Quaker with that bearded look; which is dirt by the way!

DO NOT disturb

One busy man!

And so ladies, I hope that this short guide might assist you in knowing what not to say or do in your efforts to be helpful. I will leave you with a few more useful tips J Happy renovating everyone.

-   When there is a problem, never ask, “Is there anything I can do to help?” – There won’t be. If HE can’t do it, you certainly can’t. You may ask the question if there is no problem, as you may be required to clean up, make a coffee or mix plaster. This is acceptable. 

-         Do NOT under any circumstances suggest getting someone in to help him. He does not want anyone else’s help. He wants to do it ALL himself and by God he will.

-         You MUST resist the urge to touch him while he is working out a problem. No matter how sympathetic you are feeling, you MUST not touch him, no, no, no. Do not stroke his arm, put a hand on his back or in any way make bodily contact. Now is not the time. If you do, you may as well pat him on the head and say “There there”.

-         Under no circumstance utter the words, “Ahhh don’t worry about it” - these words are futile

-         And my final rule just for me; even in moments of weakness, I must NEVER mention how good I am at mixing plaster J That would just be rude!

www.freyabarrington.com

Freya