My Other Diary
My housebuyer's diary was written in five parts, and What Mortgage magazine published the first four, ending when I received the keys from the estate agent. The serialisation ended when the conveyancing ended.
This final unpublished installment covers the first weeks and months of ownership. My house was structurally sound but, to put it kindly, more cosmetically challenged than I had realised. To put it unkindly, I was utterly unprepared for home ownership.
Every Day is May Day!
26 February 1993: COMPLETION DAY
First of three photos: Behind the wall paper was a multi-coloured but sound wall. The electric fire and the 1930s tile surround (bottom right) must go.
I pack my car with cleaning equipment, electric kettle (my new house has neither a cooker nor a fridge), tea bags, and a clutch of light bulbs. After obtaining the keys from the estate agent, I enter the house to find that the electricity is on but the gas is off. The gas meter is next to the front door, and the lever had been turned to the off position. A simple flip turns the gas back on.
[As noted elsewhere in PWP, the seller did not forewarn me that she would turn off the gas (and, with it, the central heating) although it was the middle of winter. Without heat there was a real risk of pipes bursting in the loft, and I dread to think what might have happened if I had waited a week before entering the house for the first time. None of my professional advisors—not my solicitor, not either of my two chartered surveyors, not the estate agent—had flagged this potentially serious issue.]
Second photo: The fireplace contained a back burner, which was removed to allow the new fireplace to be installed.
With the gas flowing, I light the boiler’s pilot light, which fires the central heating. I also insert light bulbs in the sockets in all of the rooms. Every bulb in the house has been removed except for one in a hard-to-reach socket in the airing cupboard.
I expect to find bare floorboards in every room, but most floors are topped by bits of linoleum, tiles or plywood, and the stairs with carpet grippers. As the house had contained a mish-mash of old and unappealing carpets, the contract included a clause requiring the vendor to remove all of them. The wording should have required bare floorboards. My solicitor seems to have missed yet another opportunity to earn her fee.
First weekend, 27-28 February
In the now-empty house, the wallpaper draws attention to itself. It has to go: either painted or papered over or stripped clean. I rent an electric steamer and expect the paper to peel away like sellotape. I expect the entire job to take a few hours. In fact,a friend and I work most of Saturday and all day Sunday on the gooey task, and I have to return on Monday to finish it all.
Final photo: Job done.
1 March
Gas, electric, telephone, local council, water board: the first weekday morning sees me making many telephone calls, reporting meter readings and the like. I also arrange for a second opinion on the woodworm highlighted by my surveyor. One specialist firm has already quoted £300 for woodworm chemical treatment—and tells me that I also need an airbrick in the kitchen, for an additional £100. [Seventeen years later and still no airbrick.]
2 March
I make many phone calls but am not receiving any. The phone company confirms a fault in the line and volunteers that new occupiers often have problems with phones left behind. The BT explanation: any kind of change (such as switching an old number to a new subscriber) sometimes causes or exposes faults that have been waiting to happen. I also wonder if, with two sets (outgoing and incoming) of removal men, the wiring or the terminal box might have taken a knock.
3 March
The second wood specialist says that there is no need for an airbrick in the kitchen, which shaves £100 off the previous quote, and chemical treatment is £250 (a saving of another £50). The work is guaranteed for ten years.
12 March
A Water Board van is parked on my road, and I intercept the engineer as he returns to his vehicle. He is happy to show me where my master water valve is located.
The valve is beneath and to the side of the kitchen sink, and he advises me against turning it—ever! It has probably rusted and may snap off if turned. He then shows me the location of the water valve on the pavement outside.
7 April
I have arranged a visit from a Crime Prevention Officer [the Metropolitan Police has since discontinued this valuable personal service, replacing it with brochures). He leans into my front door and shows me how a burglar could easily wedge it open.
In addition to a second door lock, he recommends window locks and a few other gewgaws. He explains that my front-garden shrubs provide privacy not only for me but also for burglars: privacy and security are a trade-off. The security survey is free, but I have to buy locks (seven for the windows alone) and pay for installation.
8 April
I smell gas. So does the gas man who responds to my emergency call. He finds three minor leaks and fixes them. He also confirms my surveyor’s finding that the gas heater in a bedroom fireplace is dangerous. With my permission, he saws through the pipe to disconnect it and seals it shut.
My boiler gets a passing grade. The flame is blue, not yellow, and the exhaust chamber is clean, not charred.
22 April
Bees have started swarming beneath the gas meter next to the front door. I phone my local council, whose pest-control officer suspects masonry bees. He can send an inspector—for £25.
A neighbour recommends a private pest controller, whom I phone, and he suspects sand bees—harmless and temporary visitors who are merely collecting sand for a nearby nest.
He can pay a visit and charge me a fee, but he proposes a cheaper alternative: the stick test. He instructs me to insert a thin stick into the holes to see how deep they are. I report back that they are perhaps a quarter or half-inch deep. The shallowness confirms his suspicions: this is indeed a quarry, not a nest. He suggests benign neglect: if I leave them alone, they will leave me alone, and a few weeks later they disappear. [This routine repeats every year: the bees bore into rock and concrete, leaving behind wonderfully cylindrical holes. The most effective deterrent is a layer of soft sand. They love the hard stuff.]
1 May
Today marks the end of two months of home ownership.
I have clearly been drastically unprepared in numerous ways. Spring has arrived. The large, overgrown garden demands attention. The longer I delay cutting the grass, the longer it grows, but I don’t have a lawn mower.
The garden eats money - lawn mower, rake, trowel, gloves, compost, shovel, and many other items, none of which I’d budgeted for. And it demands time and resources, which means that there is less of both to go around for the house itself.
Decorating has taken several men more than a week. After they leave, plenty of work remains, which I tackle myself. Some of it is physical, and difficult, like removing the tiles from the kitchen floor.
I want to replace the bland original fireplace with something older (or older looking) and more ornate. It takes visits to perhaps a dozen fireplace shops before I finally find one that appeals.
When I finally buy a mower and other garden equipment, I need a shed, and it needs a foundation and installation. The water tank needs a jacket, the kitchen cabinet hinges need tightening, the floorboards need sanding, the gutter needs cleaning, the....