How (not?) to spend Sunday

Taking advantage of the fact that the hole is complete (can a hole be complete, or is that a contradiction in terms?) and that The Perfectionist was taking a rare day off in order to discover whether his family still recognised him, we decided that there was only one thing for it: dust clearing.

There was rather a lot of it.

In fact I've never seen quite so much dust in my life ...

Those are, believe it or not, red terracotta tiles. Drastic measures were necessary to clean the 50 square metre area:

Now please don't be alarmed by this picture. I don't always look that frightening, honest. I'm just doing my Teletubby impersonation. 

By the end of the (very long) day there was only one word that either of us could utter:

One man and his hole

Yesterday, 8.30am:

Yesterday, 6.30pm:

Today, 12.30pm:

Today, 6.30pm:

It might not be apparent from the photos, but this is a solid stone wall, well over half a metre thick; it was once an outside wall, and some of the stones are as wide as I am - too heavy to lift, and so have to be cut up with an angle grinder ...

It might (does!) feel like sheer madness right now, but we've all been waiting for this moment since the start of the work: this is where we finally connect the two parts of the house that up to now have been separate, with the only access from one to the other through a circuitous route that takes you via the cellar. The last two days have been a truly superhuman effort on the part of The Perfectionist, who's working largely on his own while we clear rubble, fetch, carry, make coffee, admire, and generally sympathise. (True, we do have him shut into the room behind the acro props, thus forcing him to hack his way out, but he doesn't mind. No, really, he doesn't ...).

It's a bit of a strange voyage of discovery: today, for instance, we started to uncover a whole load of stones and filling that were distinctly burnt. Was there a chimney? No other evidence of one. Was there once a fire? Was the room once a forge, maybe? Unlikely - we've been told by two elderly sisters who grew up in the house that it was always an animal shed - goats, in fact. Was it used to smoke charcuterie, perhaps? We may never know for sure. And yesterday afternoon The P (who is not given to hysteria, even when shut into an old goat shed) reported seeing, out of the corner of his eye, a series of vague, shadowy figures passing in front of the hole ... and, well, let me put it this way - it was neither John nor me, and there was nobody else here ...

Just when you think it's all over ...

... and there'll be no more channelling out for wiring or pipes, or moving of radiators, or lime rendering, or plastering, or removal of ceilings, or general builders' mess making ...

Just when you think you might just be on the home strait because you've got four rooms looking pretty damned good ...

Just when you've cleared up more dust than you thought could possibly exist in the entire world and at last you can walk about without leaving white footprints ...

... and when you've finally cleared all the rubble and lime dust and rotting plaster and old tiles and carried away tonnes and tonnes of stone ...

Just when you think all that might be over ...

... your builder comes along and does this ...

... and this ...

... and this ...

Dontcha just love 'em?

Ticking clock ...

Yesterday was a momentous day. I went out. As in: left the premises. And not to go to the builders' merchants (well, okay, I did go there. But only in passing ...), but to meet a friend for lunch, catch-up and general mooch.

It's ridiculous, but since January 1st I had (until yesterday) left Grillou just twice - on both occasions to gather building supplies and throw in a bit of food shopping at the same time. Friends didn't believe me when I told them. I don't blame them. I can barely believe it myself. But it's true. During the same period, sleep has been something of a rare commodity too. As, of course, has blogging.

The bottom line is that we've been working to a looming deadline. With the bulk of the building work in the guest accommodation finished, we've had a builder-free period of three months to get to grips with the finishing and decoration of the whole area - nearly 200 square metres - and that meant lots of making good of walls and woodwork, painting, colourwashing, limewashing, tadelakting, tiling, building shelving, sanding, staining and waxing the floors in two rooms, laying new floors in several other rooms, putting in skirting boards, fitting new lights .... It was a looming deadline, because The Perfectionist was due back last week to start major work in the last room - the dining-room-to-be, full from floor to (5m high) ceiling with assorted furniture, boxes of books, bedding, towels, a shower door and copious amounts of general toot of the why-on-earth-did-we-bring-this-to-France variety. All of which had to be Removed, so that The P - now without Pink Van Man, who has taken his pink van to pastures new - could make the sort of mess that only builders can. (Yes, I know, I'll pay heavily for that remark ...).

We made it. Just. As he was unloading his van, we were moving boxes into one bit or other of the new guest accommodation. It's good to have him back (did I really say that?), but the deadlines continue: restoring furniture, yet more bathroom work, stripping and laying more floors, restoring staircases, decorating and finishing the chambre d'hôte hallway and landing, making curtains and throws, trying to restore order into the grounds, redesigning and rewriting our websites in two languages ...

I'm feeling pretty tired, to be honest. (And just possibly a bit grumpy. But you'd have to ask Them about that ...). I know, because I'm fantasising about beaches, and saunas, and hot tubs, and cold beers. But. I went out. The sun shone. And here's the proof: a photo I took from the end of our track.

I'd forgotten, quite how lovely it is.

Blue

The sky here at lunchtime today.

Not Photoshopped, not fiddled.

Just ... blue.