Brushfires and Builders

The week just gone was hectic as you may have deduced from there being no new posts by me. But, touch timber, things will go more smoothly from now.

All piping and wiring have been reconnected. Well nearly - when marking out the foundations we found that an electricity pole is sitting right smack on one corner. It has to be moved as the council won’t allow the wall plan to be changed even by the 4cm needed. It’s at times like this I curse GIS, theodolites and all that goes with them. In the old days the wall would have just been realigned by 4cm and no-one would’ve noticed. Actually it would have been a couple of inches.

And what a hot week. By Irish standards it was roasting. Mid to high twenties every day. The grass in the paddock, when flattened by the diggers, dumpers, jeeps and vans*, turned yellow within an hour. There were frequent brushfires caused by sparks from the angle grinder cutting the steel mesh for the foundations. Once the fire spread to the rubble pile which caused a flurry of excitement.

Bock warned me about the dust. But I didn’t expect it to be so all pervasive. Everywhere would seem clean until the light at sunset showed up a greyish film covering everything. Even in rooms that were closed all day. Clean it and the dust would be visible again at dawn. Why do photographers love the half-light when it shows up the dirt like that?

Don’t get me wrong - I’m not house-proud and wuzzie. The dust doesn’t really bother me in that way, but I do fret over what it’s doing to my computers’ innards.

The foundations went in on Saturday. Eight men,** two** with hangovers, laboured non-stop (stopping is not an option with concrete) from 8:00 until 14:00. The heat was bitched about often and these outbursts, without fail, followed up by a ah, shur we shouldn’t complain. It reminded me of when I was small and my mum screaming at me when I’d do something wrong: Jesus, Christ almighty, wait ’til I get me hands on ya, ya little feker was always appended with a God forgive me for cursing. In the Irish psyche, declaring a dislike for a hot day, like cursing, must be apologised for.

The builders’ day ended with them setting aside an area to take a load of sand later. Very impressive. Bordered on three sides by sheets of plywood with SAND painted in large letters on the one at the back. No delivery driver could make a mistake. A smaller sign was placed nearby: mine pipe. I had to know what one was, wouldn’t you? I don’t know whether the foreman or I felt the more stupid.

* Plus one boyracer vehicle complete with alloys, sub-woofers, spoilers etc. Every building site must have a boyracer vehicle.

** Includes one young lad. Every building site must have a young lad, perhaps it is law - Someone to drive the boyracer vehicle.