Kevin the builder is back. Hurray! It’s only taken a year for him to get round to doing the finishing touches on St Curig’s Towers. My immediate priority was adjustments to the children’s rooms. I’d bought a load of reclaimed wood in readiness, which Steve had sanded and waxed. It came up a treat; a nice, rich, reddy-brown colour.
The rooms are non-conventional, being part of a church conversion, and I wanted to make more of the space by building platform beds. First, I had to persuade Kevin to come, and then wait patiently for him to turn up.
He arrived at last with alcohol breath so strong it sent me backing into the wall; he was sweating profusely and looked suspiciously as if he might throw at any moment. I recognised the feeling, having unforgettably projectile vomited all over the headmistress in front of the entire school assembly many years ago (if only it didn’t feel like yesterday). It was the weekend after all, and I dare say Kevin was entitled to have let his hair down the night before - I just wanted to be sure that, unlike my hapless headmistress, I ducked out of the way in time. Fortunately, Kevin can hold his drink better than a 14-year-old schoolgirl and manfully set about his tasks despite suffering a monumental hangover.
Before getting started it was imperative we sort out the roof light problem. This is a saga that has been going on for a while: Tybalt’s Velux smashed in the wind some time back and getting it fixed meant not just replacing the glass but fitting a whole, new window casing into the frame. Having spent £200 on the double glazed unit, closer inspection revealed that the hinge was broken. A succession of available builders all shook their heads. I needed a completely new Velux, which would entail scaffolding, taking out slates and replastering inside.
I was beginning to despair, but Kevin proved himself a somewhat tottery knight in shining armour. However annoying he may be at times, I had to hand it him as he hauled himself up the ladder in his groggy stupor, perilously perched his bottom out of the roof light and installed the new unit with minimum fuss.
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As we watched we were amused by the new kitten playing in Kevin’s toolbox and then doubled up with laughter as she scrambled around in the screws and duly wee-ed all over them. Kevin threatened to leave at once so I gave them a quick swash with the hose. It obviously didn’t bother him too much, because during the rest of that day I frequently saw him holding screws in his mouth before placing them in newly-drilled holes.
One of his main jobs was putting nightmare door closers on, which are driving us crazy. They are obligatory when you run a B&B because of fire regulations, and mean that the doors close automatically. But they make the doors seem to weigh a ton, so if you don’t catch them in time they shut with a terrible clunk and increase the level of in-house noise pollution, which we are trying to keep at a minimum for the sake of the guests.
It must have been the job from hell as far as Kevin was concerned as he worked doggedly on through the chaos. He had to contend with the kids climbing all over him and me periodically checking up on progress, screeching: “Kevin isn’t slacking, is he?” as I went through the house to find him. Then I would be really annoying (just couldn’t help it) by instructing him where to drill the holes.
I pushed as best I could for him to fit a wardrobe into my bedroom into the bargain but he drew the line and wouldn’t budge. He took one look round the place and said the best solution was to put a skip in the corner, otherwise something along the entire length of the wall might be sufficient to house my bloody clutter - but he couldn’t guarantee it.
In no time, though, he had fulfilled my dream so far as the kid’s rooms were concerned. The platform beds mean that they not only have a lovely, little nest-like retreat up in the rafters in which to sleep, but they also can see out of the window (on a padlocked chain) and onto a stupendous view of the surrounding hills while they are up there. We had great fun doing the finishing touches as safety nets and fireman’s poles were fixed (much joshing about pole dancing and ways of topping up my income on Kevin’s part of course) and the furniture down below was rearranged. Not only does the result look great but it has cleared the way for much more constructive and imaginative play.
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So, after a productive weekend, I feel relatively happy but completely exhausted; if only I had a fraction of the energy of Clover the kitten, who never tires of doing back flips or clawing her way up my trouser leg.
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