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

Master Plaster; or The Trials and Tribulations of Using French Plaster in your Renovations!

Steve and I are neck deep in renovations at our new home in the Cote D’Armor region of Brittany. Steve is a veteran of many a renovation, so this is most definitely NOT his first rodeo. He is a capable electrician, plumber, carpenter, builder and much more. He has yet to meet a DIY challenge, which he cannot conquer;

All that would change, the day he met French plaster.

I never thought I would see the day when I wrote an entire blog about plaster, but here it is. Those of you who have tried to work with the stuff will understand completely, and will no doubt be shaking your heads in silent empathy and maybe even wiping a tear from your eye at the memory of your own failed attempts.

Having reached a point where plastering was required, we duly went to our favourite place – Bricomarche, for supplies. Bricomarche is bit like B&Q in the UK, and with just as many exciting things. Bricomarche is to Steve what a sparkly handbag or shoe shop is to me. Going to Bricomarche is a bit like entering a time warp or a parallel universe.

It was a very exciting day when the Brico lorry came to our house!

Many’s the time we have ventured inside, with the words, “I don’t need much” or, “I only need a washer for the tap”, ringing in my ears, and yet, hours later, we emerge blinking in the sunlight with a trolley, laden with goodness knows what and suffering from dehydration. I actually timed Steve once as he chose some plumbing accessories – he took a whole hour! A whole hour in one aisle!

I also recall when it came to choosing our new bed that he lost interest after five minutes, and walked away to look for more manly things, saying, “I don’t care which one, I’ll let you sort it”.

Steve is easily distracted in shops like Bricomarche. I have noted that there are three main items, which he cannot resist; extensions, tape measures and spirit levels. Don’t ask me why. We have more electrical extensions than, ...... well, than Bricomarche, and in our first week here, he had purchased four spirit levels! 

Have you ever heard that old urban myth, that you are never more than six feet away from a rat? Well, in this house, I am never more than six feet away from a tape measure! They is always one within reach – you never know what might need to be measured in a hurry.

This was yesterday's purchase of extensions!

Anyway, back to the plaster. I guess the clue was in the name – JOKER. Hmmm, I missed that one.

Joker by name and certainly Joker by nature

Steve has plastered more walls than I’ve had sparkly shoes. He is a veritable master, nay a Jedi of plastering. However, this is when using good old British Thistle plaster, which you can apparently chuck in a bucket with water and abuse as you like and it will still oblige and behave as it should. Not so the Joker!

Steve is not accustomed to needing female assistance in plastering a wall. He is quite capable of mixing it up and slapping it on. Thus it was, he set out on the first day, humming happily to himself as he threw the joker plaster and water into his bucket.

The first clue I had as to the shape of things to come, was when I heard a loud scraping noise, accompanied by low mutterings (Steve does not use bad language, but I think on this occasion he may have been tempted). I listened and waited. The scraping stopped and I heard water running and the sound of cross mixing (I can tell the difference between ordinary mixing and cross mixing, and this was most definitely cross). Then, a few minutes later, “Oh for goodness SAKE” followed by more scraping and muttering (louder this time).

Now, we women know better than to go into a man cave and ask, “Is everything okay?” when clearly is isn’t. It's as pointless as saying, "Let's stop and ask for directions" when you're lost. I stood frozen to the spot downstairs as the cycle of mix, mix, mix, scrape, scrape, scrape, mutter, mutter, mutter continued, until eventually there was a grand finale of crash, bang wallop as the bucket was sent flying with a yell of “Stupid dratted stuff”.

I could stand it no longer and ventured upstairs to make tentative enquires as to how the plastering was coming along. It was not good. Not good at all. In a huge huff of vexation, Steve told me that the plaster was “going off too quickly”, which to the uninitiated means it was setting before it should. He proceeded to explain to me in great depth how he had plastered hundreds, if not thousands of walls and never had this trouble. Short of producing qualifications and glowing references in regard to his competence, he had me convinced that the problem lay not with his superior abilities, but with the plaster. The words, “A bad workman always blames his tools” were out of the question here. I shook my head and sympathised.

“Look at it” he invited, showing me the concrete like mixture. “It just goes off in minutes. I can’t work like this” he lamented. “How am I supposed to finish it off?” I shook my head, with nothing to offer with regard to how he could finish it off. 

The dead plaster pile!

I helpfully suggested that I look online to see if there were any other people who had experienced similar issues, and see what suggestions there might be for success. He glowered; “I know how to mix plaster” he said ungraciously for the umpteenth time. I agreed, that he did indeed know how to mix plaster, but maybe not French plaster.

And so to good old Google. What I found astonished me. Forum after forum berating the qualities, or lack of them, of French plaster. I mean there were literally dozens of posts asking for help in using the stuff. We were not alone! There was an entire community of bucket scraping, muttering men (and women) who were as frustrated as Steve.

Advice varied, but what came through loud and clear, apart from “This stuff is rubbish” was;

1.    Add lemon juice to the mix

2.   Add more water than it says on the bag

3.   Hurry up and get it on the walls

4.   Have someone helping you mix as you plaster

5.   Use very small quantities

6.   Give up, go to England and buy some Thistle plaster!

With confidence soaring, I read the instructions on the bag, translated them via Google translate and did the maths. Adding 30% to the water, I then took my own vintage kitchen weighing scales (a small sacrifice) and weighed exactly two kilos of powder. I added this carefully to a pre measured two litres of water plus the 30%, plus a squirt of lemon juice.

What followed was like something out of a Carry On film and went like this;

Steve; Is it ready?

Me; Umm, not sure, I don’t think so, it’s not gone thick (poking and stirring hopefully as I spoke)

Steve; Add some more plaster

Me; But I’ve measured it exactly

Steve; Just add some more

Me; Okay – adding more

Steve; (Ten seconds later) What’s it like now?

Me; Oooo it's going really thick now

Steve; Right, put some on here – his plastering thingy

Me; Puts some on as asked

Steve; (Crossly) this is no good it’s going off already. Did you put lemon juice in it?

Me; Yes

Steve; Well it’s no good, it’s gone off

Me; I don’t think I should have added any more powder. You need to wait longer, and there is no need to be churlish with me

Steve; I know how to mix plaster

Me; I know you know how to mix plaster but this is different. You asked me to help and I’ve measured it exactly as it said.

Steve; scrape scrape, mutter mutter

You get the picture? And so it went on. I almost lost the will to live, I got a bad back with all the bending and mixing, not to mention the scraping and wasted plaster.

My Waterloo - plaster mixing

I came to the conclusion that it would be easier to work with the most demanding of Hollywood divas than to work with this plaster. I came to dread the words, “Can you mix me some plaster?” I would run and hide, but he always found me! I also came to understand that there is a whole different vocabulary related to plastering, which translates like this.

Original                                             Translation

I only need one bucket               This will take seven buckets

It shouldn’t take long                 This will take all morning

It’s going off too quickly            You’ve clearly mixed this wrong

Stupid stuff                             This is an affront to my abilities

After several weeks of working with the Joker, many tears and tantrums and a lot of wasted effort, I can honestly say I am now able to get a consistent result. The best advice I can offer to anyone who may want it, is as follows;

*Add a squirt of lemon juice to the water before adding powder

*Add powder to water approx. 1kg to 1L water

*Stick rubber gloves on and mix it by hand, squidging all the lumps out as you go

*Once you’ve used a bit, add a handful of water at a time as required to the remainder and keep mixing to prevent it going off

I never mix more than 2kg powder at a time as it really does go off too quickly.

The all important lemon juice

I am fairly confident that there will be many people (okay many men) who might well read this with a certain amount of scorn. That’s okay; this was OUR experience with French plaster. If you managed it better, good for you, for us it was a freaking nightmare!

He got there in the end







I’m a girly girl. I like sparkly things, high heeled shoes and vintage dresses. I like makeup, nail polish and jewellery. I never thought I would be elbow deep in plaster, or hear myself utter the words, “Yey, it’s not going off”, but then I never thought I could look so scruffy and feel so happy J

Usually dressed up and sparkly. Mind, you this WAS our wedding day

Nowadays, more likely to look like this!

Bucket of plaster needed? Bring it on, I’ve got it sussed J

Please visit my website; www.freyabarrington.com for more on me and my writing, thank you

Freya