Round and round and round it goes
Where it all ends is a complete mystery to me.
This morning I have been mostly phoning around all the assorted builders and suchlike who should have been touting for my work but haven't. It's been an interesting experience.
One (I was going to say 'or two', but that would be a lie) was genuinely apologetic, very embarrassed and promised to have something in the post by the end of the day. I'll give him the benefit of the doubt on that one. The rest, to a man, couldn't really give a toss.
Sure, they said sorry. They muttered stuff about being really busy, or the cat having been sick on my letter, or aliens abducting them and carrying out strangely invasive examinations on them, with phallic probes. None of them seem to realise that I don't care. All I want is for them to tell me how much it's going to cost to build my house. And the longer they take about it, the less likely I am to use their services when the time comes.
Meanwhile the projected start date for the build rolls ever more winterwards - not a good time to be putting up a house.
At least the planning application is underway. I know that the community council has looked at the plans, because the chairman of the community council is selling me the land (he had to declare an interest and leave the meeting at that point - local government at least is fair in this country). The good people of Ceredigion have until the 11th of May to make their objections known to the planning office, and after that it is in the lap of the gods (or the planning officers, as they are more formally known). I should know one way or the other by the end of the month.
Then the real panic can start.
This morning I have been mostly phoning around all the assorted builders and suchlike who should have been touting for my work but haven't. It's been an interesting experience.
One (I was going to say 'or two', but that would be a lie) was genuinely apologetic, very embarrassed and promised to have something in the post by the end of the day. I'll give him the benefit of the doubt on that one. The rest, to a man, couldn't really give a toss.
Sure, they said sorry. They muttered stuff about being really busy, or the cat having been sick on my letter, or aliens abducting them and carrying out strangely invasive examinations on them, with phallic probes. None of them seem to realise that I don't care. All I want is for them to tell me how much it's going to cost to build my house. And the longer they take about it, the less likely I am to use their services when the time comes.
Meanwhile the projected start date for the build rolls ever more winterwards - not a good time to be putting up a house.
At least the planning application is underway. I know that the community council has looked at the plans, because the chairman of the community council is selling me the land (he had to declare an interest and leave the meeting at that point - local government at least is fair in this country). The good people of Ceredigion have until the 11th of May to make their objections known to the planning office, and after that it is in the lap of the gods (or the planning officers, as they are more formally known). I should know one way or the other by the end of the month.
Then the real panic can start.
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