Lady Chatterley’s Liver

Yes, I’ve finished another room! And it’s the important corner room that is the centre of the West Wing. It’s only taken... wait for it... three months, thanks to the amount of damage in the room, and the state of the walls, that resembled tissue paper on a wet day. I’ve only got it done by burning the midnight oil at both ends.

This has of course produced a fair amount of chatter from the ladies, and the obligatory trip for curtains. Well, at least the Edwardian brushed silver curtain poles (which of course have to be specially ordered; as I’ve discovered in Australia, if you don’t like the white plastic version you get an odd look and people ask for a lot more cash) as opposed to the curtains. I’ll wait for Aldi to have their once a year curtain sale for those, and get some decent German quality.

So I can move onto the next room – the ‘new’ dining room - I’ve moved all the dining room furniture into this room, including making a monumental effort to move the drinks cabinet four feet to the left, which I’m pleased to report has been successful. Talking of which, it is a Saturday night...

Through the cooking glass

Sash window - as good as new

Let’s talk windows. Not any old windows – oh no, we’re talking about classic Victorian sash windows. The kind found throughout the length of Britain, but oddly rare in Australia, where few survive. Which might explain why people don’t seem to know how to look after them – they are a masterpiece of carpentry, and where the glazed panels are opened by sliding vertically in separate grooves in the side jambs, with cast iron counter-weights concealed within the window frame. They were created in 1670 by the English scientist and inventor, Robert Hooke, to avoid the problem of casement windows blocking narrow alleyways, and are so common back in the home country as to not be worthy of another look. Most people know how to repair a sash window.
Except in Australia, where they are so rare as to be individually listed. Alas, due to their rarity, it’s hard to get the bits to put them back into working orders, and sure enough, the ones I’ve got had the sash cord broken, the top sash nailed firmly shut, and so much rattle in the catch that the vibration of passing lorries had broken one of the panes. Mind you for some of the windows at the back the builders just gave up, raising restoration to new depths, and put springs in instead of the sash cords, so I should be grateful the weights are still there at all.

Before - with frame removed

I tried popping down to Bunnings for some sash cord – standard DIY supplies I thought – and the guys there tried to sell me washing line instead. I eventually ran some to earth in a renovation centre.

But I need those windows working – particularly the top sash. It’s designed to let hot air out of the top, and cool air in at the bottom. After a week where it’s topped 40 degrees every day, and not dropped below 27 at night, ventilation is essential. I’m slowly cooking. After a week, huddling, looking through the glass, if it gets any hotter I’ll have to let her indoors back in.

So – here’s the quick guide to getting your sashes back in sliding order, or How to Repair Sash Windows, and polish these puppies up.

Sanding down 150 years of muddy paint

Rip off the window frame exposing the sash weight boxes. Take off the sash edging strip, which allows you to slide the window out. Reattach sash cord to weight at one end, and window at the other, looping over the pulley. Oil pulley (you can’t do this when it’s been reassembled). Reassembly is a reversal of removal. Remove sashes. Sand window. Fill holes where some pillock has put little hooks on the windows for net curtains (why?) paint. Put catch back on. Enjoy. Do it right, and you’ll be sure you don't build yourselves a bag of worms.

Now repeat for all the windows in the house. As much fun as shooting monkeys in a barrel.

Tomorrow when the Wall Began

I’m at the stage of nailing the walls back together, now that they are full of this lovely absorbent sound insulation. This, however, is easier said than done.

As I’ve found from putting the planks back, they have to be in exactly the right place so that the joints match up – otherwise the wonky lines draw your eye in, and the cracks look terrible. There’s no easy way to do this, other than jiggling the blasted things up and down. I’ve tried nailing them in place as soon as it looks right, but inevitably one end slips. Consequently  I adopted the technique of leaving the nail head an inch or so proud of the woodwork. As anyone who has tried to extract six inch nails from stout timber will appreciate, this is a wise precaution.

There’s one problem however – the walls look like an out of work hedgehog. After a couple of painful contacts, I’ve learnt to go around the wood with more caution. However, this evening, the inevitable happened. I bumped into the West Wall, them was a rumbling sound, and the entire lot came tumbling down like a snowball coming down the mountain with a full head of steam.

So, for the second time in a week, I’ve nearly brought my life to a premature end. For my next trick I’ll set myself on fire.

The Fatal Chore – or the Riddle of the Sanders – Part 2

Australia – it’s a country where you rarely escape with your life. From the convict days of old, to just taking a pleasant stroll. If the snakes don’t get you, the spiders will. And so will the sanders.

Now I’m not talking about a rare type of marsupial found in WA: I mean the device used to get paint of wall. And ceiling. And everywhere else the talented individuals who painted this house back in the 90s decided to spray it. My trusty belt sander is now as battered as if it had gone through a war.
Tonight it was also very nearly the end of me – and would have been, were it not for a clever chap down a gold mine in South Africa.

He invented the RCD, or residual-current device, which disconnects a circuit whenever it detects that the electric current is not balanced between the energized conductor and the return neutral conductor, within the safe current-time envelope for ventricular fibrillation. In other words, if you touch a wire, it turns off the juice before it kills you. 

They’re not exactly common in Australia – or the UK come to that – and it took me ages to track one down. In fact I bought three – you know, in case two broke. However, I’m glad I did – for the umpteenth day I was perched on the top of an aluminium ladder, with the daily chore – or should that be the daily grind – of sanding down planks, when there was a spark & the lights died. But I didn’t.

Unbelievably, the sanding belt had cut through the mains cord, exposing the wire, but leaving a very healthy (to the sander, not to me) current flowing. The cable then rubbed up against the ladder, the live side came into contact with the metal lever, and a decent 240 volts flowed up my leg.

It sent goose bumps up my spine.