I'm sure I can do it cheaper..

These boots, given your current run of luck, might as well hand them over now, save yourself the trouble.
Yeah - and no-one wants a pair smelling of sulphur, and covered in scorch marks.
 
Wiring something up with Pyro doesn't mean that it's supposed to go on fire.

Welcome back.
 

ancienturion

LE
Book Reviewer
As per one of my previous posts, I'd finally got myself clear of the rubble in Beirut, and my return trip was relatively uneventful if somewhat delayed after I mentioned to the skipper of the boat I was on that I could have a look at the rudder, which sounded a bit iffy to my learned ears, when I got hit with a rather large quote for some landscaping work.

To bring you up to speed, I've been absent from post due to various reasons, none of which will interest you but which in the short to medium term, may result in a pair of boots going, including quite a lot of old review gear I suppose. Due to all this nonsense, it seemed sensible to move house so that Mrs MRB and Jnrs would have a nice place, done up a treat. Duly bought an old but sizeable hutch off of some old dear who's kids in Japan and the US were throwing into a home. You'll be pleased to know that after they accepted the offer, and being several thousand miles away and desperate for the cash, I knocked them down a few thousand after sucking the air through my teeth whilst looking at the back garden wall (circa 150 years old) and said it needed urgent repairs.

Alas, Covid hit and just as I'd turned the house into a building site, every bit of building supply in the UK was absorbed into the Nightingales. I spent several months living in a tent, having managed to get one room plastered, wired and painted for the beloveds to sleep in (got the plaster by driving 250 miles). This was done entirely (almost) by me, believe it or not. I used a painter that I'd known and used for years, but he took the **** out of me over time / pricing, etc and then one day, went too far:

One fine hot day whilst he was working away:

MRBJnr says to MrsB "The side fence is on fire."
MrsB: "No it's not, it'll just be someone having a BBQ."
MRBJnr: "okay."
Ten minutes later
MRBJnr: "There's lots of flames now."
MrsB goes to look: "**** a duck."
MrsB to me, elsewhere in house: "Fence is on fire."
MRB: "Very good."
MrsB: "No, it is."
MRB goes to look: "**** a duck"

About four meters of old, very dry ranch style fencing happily woofting away. Grab the hose and eventually managed to get it out. Go back up to painter, who I knew would have his smoke breaks there. Confrontation ensues, lots of denial, and I sack him. I went in to a ******* rage like you wouldn't believe, and at that moment in time, determined to learn how to do it all myself.

Suffice to say, what I've learned isn't something anyone who teaches would recognise, but it got the plaster up (and down, and up again) and painted. It looks quite smart. I even put in four downlights in the bedroom, but mainly because I accidentally knocked a hole in one of the ceiling boards and thought "**** it, I'll just match it".

You'd have loved the mains board by the way, it looked like the good Dr (Who?) would have used it in his reTardis. This thing was old and whilst having been upgraded somewhat, had kept all the original fittings, etc.
I learned how to wraggle, which created an almighty mess and a lot of plastering work thereafter, but that was fun - a mate showed me out of sympathy after I tried tacking the lives to the wall with some u-clips. That went really well, and in fairness, he, being a sparky to trade, helped with everything else and taught me a lot (milk after the hot water). I felt very fulfilled by the end of it. I also have full access to the armoured cable that comes in off the street; we did discuss briefly whether or not he could feed into it and bypass the meter, but he for some reason appeared concerned about tampering with the street mains cable.

Got one bathroom done - I went the wall panel route, except the delivery guy left the panels bowed between either end of the garage door, so when I tried to fit one, I was in tears because it wouldn't sit flush. Angry phonecalls ensued and replacements duly arrived, but halfway round MrsB pointed out that (it's the white brick design) I hadn't cut the boards lengthways, so you had 'bricks' that were two inches wide and bricks five inches wide. So I had to rip them off and start again. Not, I should add, before I removed all the old bathroom, including piping. I was taking off all the old piping, and **** knows why, but I was holding the pipe to the shower in my hand, where it vanished into the wall. I gave it a shoogle, "feels empty enough." and undid the joining cap on it, and lo, street pressure water came flying out like a ******* firehose. Finger jammed in it, screaming the house down for MrsB where I had to scream instructions as to how to isolate in the basement. Managed to slash my hand open on all the debris around me (tearing out remember) and so the bathroom is soaked, blood everywhere, and it's dripping downstairs into the ground bathroom where the electrics started to go thanks to the introduction of water.

She couldn't find the valve, so I had my phone out screaming down it for my mate down the road to get up here, and fifteen minutes later, we had the water off. Thankfully, minimal lasting damage apart from pride and marriage stability. I went downstairs, bathroom light below flickering like crazy - I pull the cord to turn it off and instantly shit my pants due to the high voltage coursing through my body, before finally killing the mains and letting it all dry out.

I tore down the old conservatory due to it not being safe, and I was true to form - I can destroy anything in seconds. A good 3 x 5m solid beamed conservatory fitted to the back of the garage and after many plans of trying to save and reuse it (rotten to the core), the decision was made to kill it. So I think at 4pm I was stood outside staring at it and said "**** you, pal" and had it down and in the skip by 11pm, including the flooring and sub-surface aggregate up. I sustained one minor head injury (swung from the edge of the roof until it all snapped off and fell on top of me) and the garage sustained minor damage due to my method of removal. It now has a new vent over said hole.

I sorted the wiring in the garage, removing the excess that had fed the conservatory and making it safe (just don't touch any of the wiring bundled up in the corner with the gaffa tape over it), and I even figured out how to run wiring for an extra light in the garage whilst doing so (don't, ffs, turn it on).

I then found the Asbestos, thanks to the survey I'd arranged, but mercifully only a small bit in the basement. Some cheap day labour was hired and asked to 'clean out the basement', but I tipped well, so that's okay and what they don't know, won't harm th.... oh, wait... anyway....
This was also in the part of the basement where I'd been digging down to find how far the founds went, as I can only stand in one small part, and I want the whole basement to be accessible, but I went too far and was actually able (quite impressed by this) to technically get my hand under my house. I rapidly filled it back in, but work is still ongoing in that area.

So, I'm waiting for planning permission for a knock through from kitchen to dining room and a full attic conversion. Hopefully come through this month, then I figure for the knock through, as long as I knock out a wee bit and put a support up, I can probably knock through the rest, supporting along the way and replace with some sort of lintle thing. The attic conversion won't be too much work, with the hardest part probably being the ability to retain the roof (not through any concern, just through me accidentally knocking it off).

My low point was when my 89 year old neighbour (who is a **** of the highest order) put a hand written note through the door.

I'm in the house, I hear a shuffling at the letterbox. I go look, see a letter coming through. I pull at it and open the door. Neighbour stood there, looking very surprised:

MRB: "Hi there Jack (Let's pretend that's his name and not '****'), how's things?
Jack: "Oh, eh, yes, very good, yes."
MRB: "How's the wife?"
Jack: "Yes, good. Eh, good to see things are moving on from this Covid, eh?"
MRB: "Yes, it is, fingers crossed it all blows over."
Jack: "Yes, aye, eh, right, I'll be on my way then."
MRB: "Bye!"

Close door and look at my hand, realise I have this letter in it he was putting through. I presume it's a wee note, being neighbourly or wishing us well with the renovations. I open it:

"We are very disappointed that you have let your hedge get so out of control. It is a disgrace to the street and we hope you would do something about it as soon as possible."

For a **** in a zimmer, that boy moved rapid because I nearly tore the door off the hinges, but there was no sign of him outside.

A week or so later, I was breaking up some stuff for the skip in the front drive when he came up to say hello and I let him have it with both barrels, not realising the entire time that I was shaking the hammer in my hand towards him. Phrases such as "Not slept in a bed for a year, do I give a **** about a ******* hedge, no I do ******* not, how dare you ******* do that to us." may or may not have left my lips. Anyway, he seemed to understand the gravity of the situation, and apparently across the road were told 20 years ago by his wife that their garden was a disgrace, and they've not spoke to them since. I don't take it to heart.

However, what is gripping my shit is a quote I had from the landscapers. I don't have much spare time, so I thought I'd get some basic work done around the garden - relaying some uneven slabs, putting in a new gravel path, fixing up a bit of the driveway and tearing out the back bed to replace with conifers. I also want a 7x3 cleared out where the old conservatory sat so I can put in a new cabin - someone on this forum has a man cabin with bar, etc. I want something similar, but long with that sloped roof style and a serving hatch I can drop down so the family can entertain their friends when they're over, and the Jnrs will have a chillout space (beanbags, etc).

The mob I use came back today with £15,000 incl VAT just for the basic works (not a cabin).

What the ******* ****?

So everything else aside, I'm going to go start lifting slabs, cutting back boundaries, breaking up concrete foundations and everything ******* else, but it can't be that hard and I can't see where they money would have gone. If nothing else, it means I can hit MrsB with the ruse of "I need to buy all this equipment, and it'll still work out cheaper."

I also want to look at the concept of these gravel pads (UV treated) as a base for the cabin - apparently they can be used for sheds, but for something heavier with glazing, patio door etc? I'm not sure. Anyone had any experience of them?

Anyway, I've been sat tonight wasting time looking on Youtube for how to do paving etc, and I'm just fucked off at the prices some people ask for - what better place to rant than on here?

I'm exhausted. I haven't slept in a bed since February 2020.

Welcome back though It's no wonder that others have not had much attention from the Emperor (PBUH).
 
As per one of my previous posts, I'd finally got myself clear of the rubble in Beirut, and my return trip was relatively uneventful if somewhat delayed after I mentioned to the skipper of the boat I was on that I could have a look at the rudder, which sounded a bit iffy to my learned ears, when I got hit with a rather large quote for some landscaping work.

To bring you up to speed, I've been absent from post due to various reasons, none of which will interest you but which in the short to medium term, may result in a pair of boots going, including quite a lot of old review gear I suppose. Due to all this nonsense, it seemed sensible to move house so that Mrs MRB and Jnrs would have a nice place, done up a treat. Duly bought an old but sizeable hutch off of some old dear who's kids in Japan and the US were throwing into a home. You'll be pleased to know that after they accepted the offer, and being several thousand miles away and desperate for the cash, I knocked them down a few thousand after sucking the air through my teeth whilst looking at the back garden wall (circa 150 years old) and said it needed urgent repairs.

Alas, Covid hit and just as I'd turned the house into a building site, every bit of building supply in the UK was absorbed into the Nightingales. I spent several months living in a tent, having managed to get one room plastered, wired and painted for the beloveds to sleep in (got the plaster by driving 250 miles). This was done entirely (almost) by me, believe it or not. I used a painter that I'd known and used for years, but he took the **** out of me over time / pricing, etc and then one day, went too far:

One fine hot day whilst he was working away:

MRBJnr says to MrsB "The side fence is on fire."
MrsB: "No it's not, it'll just be someone having a BBQ."
MRBJnr: "okay."
Ten minutes later
MRBJnr: "There's lots of flames now."
MrsB goes to look: "**** a duck."
MrsB to me, elsewhere in house: "Fence is on fire."
MRB: "Very good."
MrsB: "No, it is."
MRB goes to look: "**** a duck"

About four meters of old, very dry ranch style fencing happily woofting away. Grab the hose and eventually managed to get it out. Go back up to painter, who I knew would have his smoke breaks there. Confrontation ensues, lots of denial, and I sack him. I went in to a ******* rage like you wouldn't believe, and at that moment in time, determined to learn how to do it all myself.

Suffice to say, what I've learned isn't something anyone who teaches would recognise, but it got the plaster up (and down, and up again) and painted. It looks quite smart. I even put in four downlights in the bedroom, but mainly because I accidentally knocked a hole in one of the ceiling boards and thought "**** it, I'll just match it".

You'd have loved the mains board by the way, it looked like the good Dr (Who?) would have used it in his reTardis. This thing was old and whilst having been upgraded somewhat, had kept all the original fittings, etc.
I learned how to wraggle, which created an almighty mess and a lot of plastering work thereafter, but that was fun - a mate showed me out of sympathy after I tried tacking the lives to the wall with some u-clips. That went really well, and in fairness, he, being a sparky to trade, helped with everything else and taught me a lot (milk after the hot water). I felt very fulfilled by the end of it. I also have full access to the armoured cable that comes in off the street; we did discuss briefly whether or not he could feed into it and bypass the meter, but he for some reason appeared concerned about tampering with the street mains cable.

Got one bathroom done - I went the wall panel route, except the delivery guy left the panels bowed between either end of the garage door, so when I tried to fit one, I was in tears because it wouldn't sit flush. Angry phonecalls ensued and replacements duly arrived, but halfway round MrsB pointed out that (it's the white brick design) I hadn't cut the boards lengthways, so you had 'bricks' that were two inches wide and bricks five inches wide. So I had to rip them off and start again. Not, I should add, before I removed all the old bathroom, including piping. I was taking off all the old piping, and **** knows why, but I was holding the pipe to the shower in my hand, where it vanished into the wall. I gave it a shoogle, "feels empty enough." and undid the joining cap on it, and lo, street pressure water came flying out like a ******* firehose. Finger jammed in it, screaming the house down for MrsB where I had to scream instructions as to how to isolate in the basement. Managed to slash my hand open on all the debris around me (tearing out remember) and so the bathroom is soaked, blood everywhere, and it's dripping downstairs into the ground bathroom where the electrics started to go thanks to the introduction of water.

She couldn't find the valve, so I had my phone out screaming down it for my mate down the road to get up here, and fifteen minutes later, we had the water off. Thankfully, minimal lasting damage apart from pride and marriage stability. I went downstairs, bathroom light below flickering like crazy - I pull the cord to turn it off and instantly shit my pants due to the high voltage coursing through my body, before finally killing the mains and letting it all dry out.

I tore down the old conservatory due to it not being safe, and I was true to form - I can destroy anything in seconds. A good 3 x 5m solid beamed conservatory fitted to the back of the garage and after many plans of trying to save and reuse it (rotten to the core), the decision was made to kill it. So I think at 4pm I was stood outside staring at it and said "**** you, pal" and had it down and in the skip by 11pm, including the flooring and sub-surface aggregate up. I sustained one minor head injury (swung from the edge of the roof until it all snapped off and fell on top of me) and the garage sustained minor damage due to my method of removal. It now has a new vent over said hole.

I sorted the wiring in the garage, removing the excess that had fed the conservatory and making it safe (just don't touch any of the wiring bundled up in the corner with the gaffa tape over it), and I even figured out how to run wiring for an extra light in the garage whilst doing so (don't, ffs, turn it on).

I then found the Asbestos, thanks to the survey I'd arranged, but mercifully only a small bit in the basement. Some cheap day labour was hired and asked to 'clean out the basement', but I tipped well, so that's okay and what they don't know, won't harm th.... oh, wait... anyway....
This was also in the part of the basement where I'd been digging down to find how far the founds went, as I can only stand in one small part, and I want the whole basement to be accessible, but I went too far and was actually able (quite impressed by this) to technically get my hand under my house. I rapidly filled it back in, but work is still ongoing in that area.

So, I'm waiting for planning permission for a knock through from kitchen to dining room and a full attic conversion. Hopefully come through this month, then I figure for the knock through, as long as I knock out a wee bit and put a support up, I can probably knock through the rest, supporting along the way and replace with some sort of lintle thing. The attic conversion won't be too much work, with the hardest part probably being the ability to retain the roof (not through any concern, just through me accidentally knocking it off).

My low point was when my 89 year old neighbour (who is a **** of the highest order) put a hand written note through the door.

I'm in the house, I hear a shuffling at the letterbox. I go look, see a letter coming through. I pull at it and open the door. Neighbour stood there, looking very surprised:

MRB: "Hi there Jack (Let's pretend that's his name and not '****'), how's things?
Jack: "Oh, eh, yes, very good, yes."
MRB: "How's the wife?"
Jack: "Yes, good. Eh, good to see things are moving on from this Covid, eh?"
MRB: "Yes, it is, fingers crossed it all blows over."
Jack: "Yes, aye, eh, right, I'll be on my way then."
MRB: "Bye!"

Close door and look at my hand, realise I have this letter in it he was putting through. I presume it's a wee note, being neighbourly or wishing us well with the renovations. I open it:

"We are very disappointed that you have let your hedge get so out of control. It is a disgrace to the street and we hope you would do something about it as soon as possible."

For a **** in a zimmer, that boy moved rapid because I nearly tore the door off the hinges, but there was no sign of him outside.

A week or so later, I was breaking up some stuff for the skip in the front drive when he came up to say hello and I let him have it with both barrels, not realising the entire time that I was shaking the hammer in my hand towards him. Phrases such as "Not slept in a bed for a year, do I give a **** about a ******* hedge, no I do ******* not, how dare you ******* do that to us." may or may not have left my lips. Anyway, he seemed to understand the gravity of the situation, and apparently across the road were told 20 years ago by his wife that their garden was a disgrace, and they've not spoke to them since. I don't take it to heart.

However, what is gripping my shit is a quote I had from the landscapers. I don't have much spare time, so I thought I'd get some basic work done around the garden - relaying some uneven slabs, putting in a new gravel path, fixing up a bit of the driveway and tearing out the back bed to replace with conifers. I also want a 7x3 cleared out where the old conservatory sat so I can put in a new cabin - someone on this forum has a man cabin with bar, etc. I want something similar, but long with that sloped roof style and a serving hatch I can drop down so the family can entertain their friends when they're over, and the Jnrs will have a chillout space (beanbags, etc).

The mob I use came back today with £15,000 incl VAT just for the basic works (not a cabin).

What the ******* ****?

So everything else aside, I'm going to go start lifting slabs, cutting back boundaries, breaking up concrete foundations and everything ******* else, but it can't be that hard and I can't see where they money would have gone. If nothing else, it means I can hit MrsB with the ruse of "I need to buy all this equipment, and it'll still work out cheaper."

I also want to look at the concept of these gravel pads (UV treated) as a base for the cabin - apparently they can be used for sheds, but for something heavier with glazing, patio door etc? I'm not sure. Anyone had any experience of them?

Anyway, I've been sat tonight wasting time looking on Youtube for how to do paving etc, and I'm just fucked off at the prices some people ask for - what better place to rant than on here?

I'm exhausted. I haven't slept in a bed since February 2020.


Just admit it man, you haven't been anywhere. It just took you a year to write that novel length post
 

Ritch

LE
Crap. I had fifty quid on @MrBane killing himself with a household power tool and thought - until today - that I was a shoe-in for a payout.
 

cowgoesmoo

Old-Salt
IME a high quote is usually an indication that:

1) They don't really want the job
or
2) They think you'll be an ******** to work for
or
3) Bit of 1 and 2
 

Daz

LE
Your post mentioned boots. A friend would like to know what size and something about a tenner?
Bugger off, I've got first dibs on the smoking boots
 

Arte_et_Marte

ADC
Moderator
As per one of my previous posts, I'd finally got myself clear of the rubble in Beirut, and my return trip was relatively uneventful if somewhat delayed after I mentioned to the skipper of the boat I was on that I could have a look at the rudder, which sounded a bit iffy to my learned ears, when I got hit with a rather large quote for some landscaping work.

To bring you up to speed, I've been absent from post due to various reasons, none of which will interest you but which in the short to medium term, may result in a pair of boots going, including quite a lot of old review gear I suppose. Due to all this nonsense, it seemed sensible to move house so that Mrs MRB and Jnrs would have a nice place, done up a treat. Duly bought an old but sizeable hutch off of some old dear who's kids in Japan and the US were throwing into a home. You'll be pleased to know that after they accepted the offer, and being several thousand miles away and desperate for the cash, I knocked them down a few thousand after sucking the air through my teeth whilst looking at the back garden wall (circa 150 years old) and said it needed urgent repairs.

Alas, Covid hit and just as I'd turned the house into a building site, every bit of building supply in the UK was absorbed into the Nightingales. I spent several months living in a tent, having managed to get one room plastered, wired and painted for the beloveds to sleep in (got the plaster by driving 250 miles). This was done entirely (almost) by me, believe it or not. I used a painter that I'd known and used for years, but he took the **** out of me over time / pricing, etc and then one day, went too far:

One fine hot day whilst he was working away:

MRBJnr says to MrsB "The side fence is on fire."
MrsB: "No it's not, it'll just be someone having a BBQ."
MRBJnr: "okay."
Ten minutes later
MRBJnr: "There's lots of flames now."
MrsB goes to look: "**** a duck."
MrsB to me, elsewhere in house: "Fence is on fire."
MRB: "Very good."
MrsB: "No, it is."
MRB goes to look: "**** a duck"

About four meters of old, very dry ranch style fencing happily woofting away. Grab the hose and eventually managed to get it out. Go back up to painter, who I knew would have his smoke breaks there. Confrontation ensues, lots of denial, and I sack him. I went in to a ******* rage like you wouldn't believe, and at that moment in time, determined to learn how to do it all myself.

Suffice to say, what I've learned isn't something anyone who teaches would recognise, but it got the plaster up (and down, and up again) and painted. It looks quite smart. I even put in four downlights in the bedroom, but mainly because I accidentally knocked a hole in one of the ceiling boards and thought "**** it, I'll just match it".

You'd have loved the mains board by the way, it looked like the good Dr (Who?) would have used it in his reTardis. This thing was old and whilst having been upgraded somewhat, had kept all the original fittings, etc.
I learned how to wraggle, which created an almighty mess and a lot of plastering work thereafter, but that was fun - a mate showed me out of sympathy after I tried tacking the lives to the wall with some u-clips. That went really well, and in fairness, he, being a sparky to trade, helped with everything else and taught me a lot (milk after the hot water). I felt very fulfilled by the end of it. I also have full access to the armoured cable that comes in off the street; we did discuss briefly whether or not he could feed into it and bypass the meter, but he for some reason appeared concerned about tampering with the street mains cable.

Got one bathroom done - I went the wall panel route, except the delivery guy left the panels bowed between either end of the garage door, so when I tried to fit one, I was in tears because it wouldn't sit flush. Angry phonecalls ensued and replacements duly arrived, but halfway round MrsB pointed out that (it's the white brick design) I hadn't cut the boards lengthways, so you had 'bricks' that were two inches wide and bricks five inches wide. So I had to rip them off and start again. Not, I should add, before I removed all the old bathroom, including piping. I was taking off all the old piping, and **** knows why, but I was holding the pipe to the shower in my hand, where it vanished into the wall. I gave it a shoogle, "feels empty enough." and undid the joining cap on it, and lo, street pressure water came flying out like a ******* firehose. Finger jammed in it, screaming the house down for MrsB where I had to scream instructions as to how to isolate in the basement. Managed to slash my hand open on all the debris around me (tearing out remember) and so the bathroom is soaked, blood everywhere, and it's dripping downstairs into the ground bathroom where the electrics started to go thanks to the introduction of water.

She couldn't find the valve, so I had my phone out screaming down it for my mate down the road to get up here, and fifteen minutes later, we had the water off. Thankfully, minimal lasting damage apart from pride and marriage stability. I went downstairs, bathroom light below flickering like crazy - I pull the cord to turn it off and instantly shit my pants due to the high voltage coursing through my body, before finally killing the mains and letting it all dry out.

I tore down the old conservatory due to it not being safe, and I was true to form - I can destroy anything in seconds. A good 3 x 5m solid beamed conservatory fitted to the back of the garage and after many plans of trying to save and reuse it (rotten to the core), the decision was made to kill it. So I think at 4pm I was stood outside staring at it and said "**** you, pal" and had it down and in the skip by 11pm, including the flooring and sub-surface aggregate up. I sustained one minor head injury (swung from the edge of the roof until it all snapped off and fell on top of me) and the garage sustained minor damage due to my method of removal. It now has a new vent over said hole.

I sorted the wiring in the garage, removing the excess that had fed the conservatory and making it safe (just don't touch any of the wiring bundled up in the corner with the gaffa tape over it), and I even figured out how to run wiring for an extra light in the garage whilst doing so (don't, ffs, turn it on).

I then found the Asbestos, thanks to the survey I'd arranged, but mercifully only a small bit in the basement. Some cheap day labour was hired and asked to 'clean out the basement', but I tipped well, so that's okay and what they don't know, won't harm th.... oh, wait... anyway....
This was also in the part of the basement where I'd been digging down to find how far the founds went, as I can only stand in one small part, and I want the whole basement to be accessible, but I went too far and was actually able (quite impressed by this) to technically get my hand under my house. I rapidly filled it back in, but work is still ongoing in that area.

So, I'm waiting for planning permission for a knock through from kitchen to dining room and a full attic conversion. Hopefully come through this month, then I figure for the knock through, as long as I knock out a wee bit and put a support up, I can probably knock through the rest, supporting along the way and replace with some sort of lintle thing. The attic conversion won't be too much work, with the hardest part probably being the ability to retain the roof (not through any concern, just through me accidentally knocking it off).

My low point was when my 89 year old neighbour (who is a **** of the highest order) put a hand written note through the door.

I'm in the house, I hear a shuffling at the letterbox. I go look, see a letter coming through. I pull at it and open the door. Neighbour stood there, looking very surprised:

MRB: "Hi there Jack (Let's pretend that's his name and not '****'), how's things?
Jack: "Oh, eh, yes, very good, yes."
MRB: "How's the wife?"
Jack: "Yes, good. Eh, good to see things are moving on from this Covid, eh?"
MRB: "Yes, it is, fingers crossed it all blows over."
Jack: "Yes, aye, eh, right, I'll be on my way then."
MRB: "Bye!"

Close door and look at my hand, realise I have this letter in it he was putting through. I presume it's a wee note, being neighbourly or wishing us well with the renovations. I open it:

"We are very disappointed that you have let your hedge get so out of control. It is a disgrace to the street and we hope you would do something about it as soon as possible."

For a **** in a zimmer, that boy moved rapid because I nearly tore the door off the hinges, but there was no sign of him outside.

A week or so later, I was breaking up some stuff for the skip in the front drive when he came up to say hello and I let him have it with both barrels, not realising the entire time that I was shaking the hammer in my hand towards him. Phrases such as "Not slept in a bed for a year, do I give a **** about a ******* hedge, no I do ******* not, how dare you ******* do that to us." may or may not have left my lips. Anyway, he seemed to understand the gravity of the situation, and apparently across the road were told 20 years ago by his wife that their garden was a disgrace, and they've not spoke to them since. I don't take it to heart.

However, what is gripping my shit is a quote I had from the landscapers. I don't have much spare time, so I thought I'd get some basic work done around the garden - relaying some uneven slabs, putting in a new gravel path, fixing up a bit of the driveway and tearing out the back bed to replace with conifers. I also want a 7x3 cleared out where the old conservatory sat so I can put in a new cabin - someone on this forum has a man cabin with bar, etc. I want something similar, but long with that sloped roof style and a serving hatch I can drop down so the family can entertain their friends when they're over, and the Jnrs will have a chillout space (beanbags, etc).

The mob I use came back today with £15,000 incl VAT just for the basic works (not a cabin).

What the ******* ****?

So everything else aside, I'm going to go start lifting slabs, cutting back boundaries, breaking up concrete foundations and everything ******* else, but it can't be that hard and I can't see where they money would have gone. If nothing else, it means I can hit MrsB with the ruse of "I need to buy all this equipment, and it'll still work out cheaper."

I also want to look at the concept of these gravel pads (UV treated) as a base for the cabin - apparently they can be used for sheds, but for something heavier with glazing, patio door etc? I'm not sure. Anyone had any experience of them?

Anyway, I've been sat tonight wasting time looking on Youtube for how to do paving etc, and I'm just fucked off at the prices some people ask for - what better place to rant than on here?

I'm exhausted. I haven't slept in a bed since February 2020.
As someone who worked for many years for a builder as a skilled labourer, (and seen it all) that is without doubt, the, saddest, most wreckless, painful, heartbreaking, expensive and eye wateringly funniest building tale I have ever heard.
 
As someone who worked for many years for a builder as a skilled labourer, (and seen it all) that is without doubt, the, saddest, most wreckless, painful, heartbreaking, expensive and eye wateringly funniest building tale I have ever heard.
A visit to bane manor is in order purely for shits n giggles
 
IME a high quote is usually an indication that:

1) They don't really want the job
or
2) They think you'll be an ******** to work for
or
3) Bit of 1 and 2
And, from experience with a company for which I worked, if they ended up doing it anyway, might as well squeeze a hefty profit out of the job.
 

Daxx

MIA
Book Reviewer
Thank fork for that. DiY on ArRSe was getting very dull.
 
There’s an easy and cheap solution to all your problems.

Just hang around until your children are old enough to pick up a hammer and saw etc and then just issue instructions and supervise.

The years will fly by especially if you find a decent spot in the pub where you can sit back comfortably and survey your domain while sipping repeated pints.
 

Bluenose2

Old-Salt
They can charge what they want at the moment because everyone wants to spend their furlough/unspent holiday fund on home improvements. To do yours for £8k would probably mean turning down a £15k job elsewhere.

One outfit we spoke to even put it on their website homepage "Our minimum price is £15,000 for a project, so please bear this in mind when requesting a quote".

I just did mine over the period of a few weeks. It doesn't look that sparkly but it cost me about £600 and a f--ked up elbow.
 
Now lets get to the interesting bit, what news on the boots and the rest of the gear
 

dlrg

LE
I'll just leave this here!!

wrong thread.jpg
 

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