Everything is going just so well at the refurb house. Stephen and his 8 friends came back from a week there and the house is still standing which is always a plus. But they all say the kitchen is horrid. Then friend Dave and family arrived from Australia and admired the progress, but pursed lips to popping point at the state of the kitchen. Did I make such a big error?
I'd gone for a cheap option, with a personal plan in my head to customise it by painting it antique cream white and shouting at it until it was distressed. Leroy Merlin was the supplier - sort of B & Q - but hey, a gal has a budget here.
Anyway I went back to original designs and discovered that the wrong units have been delivered. Not the rather avant guard modern frontages that would look cool under an antique white gloss from a specialist supplier of Victorian retro-type paint (minus the lead) that I'd had in mind. But seriously boring old fart bad taste modern estate, let's pretend we've got a traditional wood kitchen crapola, with really nasty door handles.
It's fully paid for, so I don't think I'm going to win this one. Oh the shame of it, especially as I was so proud of sorting it out and completely ignored the sidewards glances from Rick and the gorgeous Guillhame. When am I ever going to learn that when it comes to design I've got absolutely no idea of what's going on. There's an enormous gap between how I see it in my head and what appears as a hard copy. I'm mystified as to how this happens. Tant pis.
So, straight from Broome I flew (in an aeroplane) to Biarritz to check out the oil situation in Oraas.
Next day I met Monsieur Larressat, gorgeous Guillhaume, Monsieur Gain, his son - and of course the octagenarian who is a permanant fixture in my hall and number one supervisor of all things going on. As usual, they had rustled up all the workers, supplied them with extra loud cutting, hammering and hitting tools just to impress me and then set them to work as I got my frown into place. I was having none of it, this was a serious conversation. Who let the oil out - as the song goes.
But I'm not that good at getting heavy handed and after considerable feet shuffling, it turned out that a central heating worker had accidentally hit the tap on the oil tank in the cow shed and emptied hundreds of litres of oil into the cow channel that washes away the slurry. Trouble is, that same oil accumulates in a large reservoir under the cowshed, and we've already had one incident there with the lads last summer. Remember the BBQ and exploding methane? Well, those same lads were on their way from England and no way were they going to be let loose into a house which, at the drop of a roach, could be blown half way to the moon.
Still, it was all very pleasant really. Messieurs Gain and Larressat accepted full responsibility for the error, had a company come in and drain out the oil and take it away for treatment and to prove the point, a cigarette butt was dropped into the trench - I ran for the road, but I was the only one and felt a bit foolish but relieved when they were still standing there 30 seconds later and were not on a steady journey skywards.
For the first time also I was able to see that real progress had been made on the refurb and that the deceased tiler had been replaced with a very grumpy youngster who was doing a wizard job upstairs in the ensuite. So it was back to Rick and Mol's for that traditional bottle of wine - only this time there was no desperation attached to the quaffing, just self congratulation.
All I need is to sell the dreaded flat and get on my way. Meanwhile I'm back at the Alliance Francaise for french lessons and championing the cause to get my 20 year old friend TJ who painted my hippo out of jail where he has been shoved for 15 months for causing £13,000 of damage through graffiti (excellent grafitti) on public places. Visit www.myspace.com/hellokreky to see his spectacular art and to object to his encarceration. He was more than willing to pay, clean it up, do community service, whatever - but the judge was wanting justice to be seen to be done. So you can download kiddy porn; cause accidental death to someone; kill someone while driving etc etc and get suspended or caution - but god help you if you act like a youth and practice youth culture in a 21st century city - bring back Meccano, National Service, even Hanging they shout. I've seen less bloodlust at a hunt before the ban on foxhunting.
We've struck oil in Oraas.
Having just returned from Broome, Western Australia, finding oil is not what we want.
Not in Broome because this pearling paradise lapped by the Indian Ocean is being stretched with tourism, booming house prices and the desertion of long-term inhabitants as the cost of living escalates beyond their potential earnings.
The seismic pull that is going on will reach its optimum, snap, and in one leap the profile of Broome will change to one of mining moghuls, their employees, and rich tourists arriving in jet loads from Singapore. Two years should do it.
The pristine beauty of the awesome Kimbeleys will be sacrificed to off shore rigs, environmental hazards and the re-raping of aboriginal homelands to the benefit of the few who run their empires from clement offices in Canberra and Perth.
Wait and watch - it's inevitable, and it's a crime against nature.
Oil in Oraas, well that's a different story. More later.
