The Return of BGL

Although we'd tried to put him off on the grounds of not enough space, floors in a mess etc, Bill D of Big Green Lorry fame is on the way and timed to arrive at about 11 on Monday with all our stuff from the Kentish house. This time he really is using the big green lorry on the business card instead of the rinky dink little Bedford, so despite several attempts, he is not going to get round the turn from country lane onto the drive, so the only alternative is for him to park 100 yards down the lane in a layby and for Dad in the 2CV and trailer, and Sparks in the van with roof-rack, to run a shuttle service from the BGL to the house. No matter. Bill turns up with 2 extra bodies for humping and it's all accomplished amicably in a couple for hours, the stuff being stored in the Tigin, the 'milking shed' and the other end of the milking shed (calf house?). The boys stop for coffee and a slice of cake and an explore of the house and how we've got on, then they are on their way.

The rest of Monday is spent on the serious business of shovelling out clay and rubble. We need to get down to 17 inches below the original floor level, 8 for compacted down sub-base, 6 for foam insulation sheets, and 3 for ready-mix screed. That, across the ground floor, is a lot of digging, shovelling and barrowing, and the boys ache in places they din't know they had. One good thing is that the garden tools turned up with the 'stuff' so Dad now has his stainless steel spade and fork, which are a lot easier on the damp clay than traditional Irish pointy-end shovels.

We now have the generator on site, so the boys can work on after dark by electric light and are still at it at 17:30. Mum is doing "on-site catering", so we retreat to the caravan for stew, wine and Scrabble. (Yes, Scrabble lives again, as Sparks has brought his board up this week.

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E minus 6 days

E-Day minus 6 and the big adventure is coming at us like a parachutist's ground-rush. We dogs have already moved, of course and can only see Mum and Dad left behind via the frequent video-Skype / Facebook chats which flow between Diamond's place and the Silverwoods here. Dad is working his way through the final scenes of the play tying up loose ends. He has to pay the Big Green Lorry guys and give them the "any time after" date. It looks like for that we have now run so close to Christmas that BGL is now likely to be after the Season but that suits us as it gives us more time to prepare a landing site for all the stuff.

Dad has been to see the house in Faversham which Diamond's John is renovating in a similar way to what we'll be doing in Roscommon. John is a very particular and painstaking kind of bloke, so his stripping back of brickwork for re-plastering nibbles away every last shard of old plaster leaving a very clean brick face to screed. He winkles out every last bit of old lead gas-pipe and redundant water pipe or electricity cable, pulling up floor boards to gain access and re-laying them properly.

He does all this little by little, clearing away the debris each day, never letting an awesome pile of rubble or old broken wood build up. Radiators are stacked neatly in the cellar and all open pipe ends are sealed off with cloth and tape. It is stripped back so clean, tidy and safe that you could almost lay out a sleeping bag and sleep there. He also takes plenty of photo's so that should his spirits ever flag he can look back at the old shots and buoy himself up by how much he has achieved. John also talks a lot of common sense about what he does himself and when he calls in the trades, and how the budget works as a result.

Dad is inspired by all this and can see his way through how it's going to work at Roscommon. He was going a little wobbly about the destruction phase, worried that we'd end up with one of the houses on D.I.Y. S.O.S. but with no TV crew and purple polo-shirted builders to rescue us. He feels a little bit more confident now, but it's still a mammoth beast. Bizarrely, he is also mildly concerned about what happens after, say 18 months down the line. We will hopefully have a lovely renovated farmhouse in the back of beyond to retreat to and hang out in after..... after what? Allotmenting? Work? A full and exhausting day involved in local projects and society? Volunteering?

Meanwhile, 2CV Llew is cutting it a bit fine (no surprise there!) building the promised 2CV trailer. Dad was down there yesterday to get the car wired for trailer-pulling and has seen the trailer such as it is so far - a wheel-less steel frame of angle iron and box-section about 6 feet long, 4 feet wide and 2 feet tall. No wooden panels, wheels, paint, light-bar, tow-hitch, cover or any other finishing touches. Llew is confident that it will be ready for Sunday morning. Mum is shaking her head and the look on her face says "why does this not surprise me. It's Llew after all!" We all love Llew to bits but he is a bit of a one for flexing deadlines.

His standard MO is to take a car off you to work on it while you go for a fortnight's holiday and then, when you get back indoors and phone him to see how it's all gone, he'll say "Ah yes, I must get started on that, mustn't I?" So he had the 2CV for all the three and a half weeks Dad was in Ireland, and did the wiring yesterday, almost a week after he got back. Still, the trailer, although it would be very useful in Ireland and has been paid for, does only contain the most non-vital stuff for our move (deliberately - we knew it was the least likely bit to get there!) so if it all goes Pete Tong and we have to leave it behind for another day, it's no great disaster. One thing it might prove to be useful for is if the famous BGL cannot be threaded out of the lane and up the drive of the Roscommon house, it can be parked a few yards down the lane in a lay-by and the 2CV and trailer used to shuttle stuff up to the house.

Exciting times

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Big Green Lorry

Our sultry, stultifying, airless heat wave continues (note blue sky in these pictures - it's the 30th September, for Heaven's Sake!) and today is the day scheduled for Mr Dempsey and his removal team to come take our 'stuff' into storage where they will keep it till we get to Ireland and invite them to bring it over. Well, as you can see, what has been heralded for days as the 'Big Green Lorry', as per all Dempsey's business cards and advertising, turns out to not be green and not even particularly enormous (though big enough). Mr Dempsey, lover of vintage vehicles like his Morris 6, in which he came to quote for the job (possibly because they knew of us as the 'people with the 2CV') has decided to do this run in the oldest lorry in his fleet, a 1978 Bedford TK in his old livery, red and white.

Well, no matter. The vehicle formerly known as BGL arrives on time and is staffed by 3 strapping lads. This includes old, grey haired Mr Dempsey himself. Dad had assumed that he was the owner, manager and maybe now promoted out of the actual humping, but no, he's in there chucking washing machines and boxes of Mum's books like a good 'un. We dogs are wrangled into the kitchen so we don't get under foot and the guys quickly eat through the living room's stuffing of boxes, mattresses and dissembled furniture. In an hour they stop for a coffee with the living room empty. There's then another 20 minutes or so kitchen stuff, garden furniture and toolery. The van is barely 3/4 full and the white goods etc stand in a single layer at the back of the load, strapped to the sides. The guys shut up the van, do some paperwork and are gone, over to the storage in the industrial estate over by Tesco's towards Whitstable.

Mum has stayed around to see the job well under way but then headed off to work. As soon as the removal men are gone, the Angel B turns up armed with hoover and brooms and sets to, to tidy and clean up after the guys which Dad very much appreciates, as he is a tad weary at this stage and still has all the clearing of debris and runs to the tip to contend with.

The only soft furnishing in the house is now the old king-sized mattress on which we will 'camp' till Monday, where-upon it, too will be tip-bound. Dad's lying on this as the only place to rest up now in this house (we're OK - we've got our dog beds) when he hears Jim a-calling. He and the Angel B have realised we have no furniture and is offering the loan of a couple of fold-up chairs. Even better, Dad is invited round for a sit in their very comfortable wicker garden-chairs and a cup of coffee and a chat. It's been a hot and exhausting week, especially any time spent in the roof-space and up and down the stairs.

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BGL minus 16 hours

As I write this we are at BGL minus 16 hours with just two more sessions of packing a preparing before "off went the van with me 'ome packed in it". One is tonight, the other an early blast tomorrow morning mainly pulling the gardenny and big stuff (ladders etc) up from the shed. We are almost there. We then have to live in a rather minimalist way till we move out all together by lunchtime Monday, no longer owning a house in this lovely road after 18 years. It's all rather sad really.

After Dad's efforts today the place looks more like a bomb has hit it than a house in a fit state to leave to the new purchaser. The fridge is away from the wall and stands open, defrosted and airing. The washing machine has been pulled out and disconnected having performed its final Faversham transaction. At least we're moving out with all the stuff clean (if not ironned) rather than carrier bacgs of minging shirts and jocks. The selected stuff from the loft is all boxed up and Dad started on the clothes, packing his supply into 2 suit cases. A million framed family pictures (including dogs) which used to grace the hall in an esoteric random assemblage are crated with alternating layers of towel to keep them safe and there is even a box of coat hangers on the stack. Christmas has also been stashed in one of the 'Tea Chest' boxes.

At risk of making anyone feel queazy just when they are about to eat their tea, Dad supplies this picture of my grot-filled ear, which is now being treated by daily applications of the anti-fungal and anti-yeast ear drops preparation, Virbac Easotic. This is gloopy and white and has to be eased, melted and squidged down my ear canal. Unfortunately, having done its thing, the carrier oil stays 'wet and can be rubbed, squidged, shaken and eased back out again over the following hours and gets in the 'white' furry fringe of fur round my ears (and then, as is the way of things, around my face and down my neck and back) giving me a very fetching 'grubby urchin who never washes her hair' look. Once the course of drops is over, I am in for the shampooing of my life.

(Semi-) Momentous day tomorrow

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The aul' Boiler

All timings now are measured back from the arrival of the almost mythical "Big Green Lorry" at 09:00 on Friday, by which time we have to have all the stuff which needs moving to Ireland and which won't go in the three cars, ready for loading. Dad currently has 3 lists running on the wall labelled with each car name. Stuff which needs to arrive at Co. Roscommon on Day 1 and will need to be used on that day (like chimney sweeping brushes and the billhooks and secateurs which will clear the way to seeing the airbricks on the houses SW corner (if they exist) and the cover for the septic tank manhole (I know - the things these humans worry about when they should be cracking open the fizz and celebrating moving in!), are destined to travel in Dad's modern car. So are this PC and the (soon) dongle which will allow me to do this blog and Dad to see Facebook once we are 'homeless' and no longer have access to these @btinternet.com domains. Us, too, of course and all our paraphernalia of feed bowls, food, grooming stuff, leads, dog beds and the like.

The stuff Mum will need to carry on working and dressing in a reasonably professional manner while she carries on working will need to be stashed in her wee Fiat. Anything else which is less time-critical and, in fact, less critical over all, can get stashed in the 2CV which will be coming along later. That will be an adventure in itself. 2CV Llew is building Dad a wee trailer to tow behind Clara, based on the same axles and suspension and 2CV wheels.

So, today, more packing and fun and games. Dad packs all the contents of the dining room dresser; lots of newspaper and bubble wrap, and the word "Fragile" in big letters on the outside of each box. Of course we would like to think that the BGL crew treat everything as 'fragile' so this is just to be on the safe side. Two blokes from British Gas also turn up today to service the old central heating boiler. They pile in and look quite professional but soon they start to scare Dad who can hear their increasingly stressed out comments; they seem to have discovered a minor leak round a rubber 'O' ring seal but having replaced the seal are then struggling to tighten up the gland as there is no space for their spanner. Dad briefly has visions of being asked to fund a boiler replacement at this late hour, but after much subdued whispered discussion the gas men are suddenly all perky again, close the boiler up and sign the paperwork and depart. Dad hopes it will all hold together till at least BGL day (Monday).

I cause concern myself by being all itchy around the right ear and my ear is full of brown grot. Dad whizzes me off to the vet where I get some white gloop put in my ears and a pain-killer injection (this caused by me squealing like a drama queen when the vet sticks his auroscope down my left ear, making him think "it's a bit tender"). Did he but know it, I make those noises at the slightest provocation, I don't need pain killers!

Drugs R Us

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