Time to be roof-less

I’m normally quite interested in the weather.

Particularly so at the moment, as it’s free to wander into my house unimpeded by trivial things like a roof.

Our quaint terraced house was built using local material, over 100 years ago. Just like a flesh and blood equivalent of the same vintage, it certainly has lots of character, charm and rich history, but some bits are similarly rather creaky, occasionally damp, and a bit... leaky.

Our 7 years under its protective roof have highlighted the fact that it is indeed the bit over the top that is of greatest concern for a our future dryness, as the Cumbrian slate, whilst mostly sound, is being let down somewhat by the vintage cement that’s meant to hold it in position.

Unfortunately, at the time of its original installation, no-one had got round to inventing the nice, waterproof, underlay that nowadays sits protectively between loft space and tiles. Consequently, a century of strong winds, frost and rain, has combined to alter the layout of the tiles sufficiently that our loftspace looks like an advert for a bucket factory.

Countless weekends, crawling around in spider-infested, sooty, filth is one thing. Having to go into the loft to attempt to patch the latest leak in similar conditions is quite another.

We’ve spent nervous nights listening to the wind howl, and the rain beat against the windows, wondering how much of it will filter through the vintage loft insulation, and leave it’s yellowy-brown signature over another area of our ceiling. It’s got through sometimes as well. On one particular occasion, the only thing preventing us from getting an oddly embarrassing stain on the bedroom carpet was Mrs G’s pile of clothes.

So today I’m writing this to the sound of a bunch of sturdy-looking blokes beating the living daylights out of something a few feet above my head, which I’m sure you’ll agree is an ideal background to the creative process.

I’ve been busy trying to blank it all out by watching three episodes of zombie gore-fest The Walking Dead on my laptop, and peeling boiled beetroot, ready for pickling. This turns out not to have been an ideal combination of entertainment, as one looks very much like the other after a while. I suspect nightmares may punctuate my sleep tonight.

The small skylight on our landing was, until recently, providing the most amount of light in its history, burning brightly like a planet gone supernova, performing it’s last, dazzling act supported by a lack of roof, before it’s years of faithful service are callously consigned to the skip, to be replaced by a whipper-snapper sun tube.

It’s going to be a nervous couple of weeks. Will they find anything terrible whilst they’re working up there? Will I be able to sleep tonight knowing that, just above the plaster and lathe ceiling, there’s only a bit of plastic sheet and the sky?

I’ll be watching the weather forecast very closely tonight. I’ve always fancied a water bed, but not like this.

This post first appeared as my "Thank grumpy it's Friday" column in the North West Evening Mail on the 27th of September, where it had "about house repairs" added to the title, but was otherwise published in it's entirety. You can view the version on the paper's website here

A surprise footnote to this experience so far was going into the airing cupboard today, only to find a layer of soot, dirt and bits of mortar over everything, where it had sneaked through the loft insulation, and found its way in via holes punched in the ceiling for water pipes. Nice. Everything immediately around the house is similarly afflicted, whilst my suggestion that they leave the old timber battens so I could use them on our fire is looking a little foolish, as there's now a mountain of stuff in the backyard to deal with, accompanied by 100 years-worth of dirt.

(Currently listening to a 90s compilation. Generally, the lamest decade for music, as highlighted by the fact that Bobby Vinton's "Blue Velvet" is the best thing on it, having been a hit in the decade courtesy of TV/Film/Advert exposure. I can't remember which. Generally, I have blanked out most of the 90s, to be honest.)

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