Every one of them is ambitious. The naked ambition is that I will get to the end and the shelf will be on the wall, straight, and still there. If I manage to avoid bloodshed, electrocution, or flooding, it is a bonus.
The problem is that if you own a property, you immediately become responsible for fixing whatever goes wrong or breaks. It used to be a landlord, and you neither cared nor thought about how something was done; you just wanted it fixedreplaced, or at least fiddled with.
The point where you buy your first property is also the point where every last tiny bit of money has been spent on getting it. Deposits and charges and payments galore have drained you of everything.
Usually, the moment something goes wrong is when you are faced with the reality that you can’t afford a builder, plumber, or electrician. In the days before the internet, you would call your dad and hope he would offer to pop round and help.
Early in my marriage, my wife was proudly explaining to my father, who could strip an engine and put it back together without any bits left over, how the shelf was mostly straight and it had stayed up. He looked at me with disdain and a little pity and asked why I hadn’t used a spirit level … well, I don’t own a spirit level. Well then, he said, ‘A marble will do!’ Yeah, I am 26, Dad, I don’t have marbles in my pockets anymore.
Our first home of our own was an apartment in Rotterdam, so not only did we know nothing about DIY, we also needed to find out what the Dutch word was for a thingymabob … you know, a whatsit … one of those bits that fit in here?!
That one was a new build, so mostly it was interior fixings and a bit of light decorating. The problems started when we moved on to period homes. Back in the UK, our current home was built in 1910. A succesion of owners had made some very odd decisions, not least was their taste in paint colours and 1950s wallpaper.
In some rooms, we have ripped everything apart back to bare walls without plaster and replaced wiring and plumbing. In others, we have made do with a lick of paint until we can get around to doing it properly. We are still working on it.
The problem is, as you go along, the goalposts move. Ten years on, and the price has doubled to do that thing you originally wanted. Or you find out that a building regulation means that it is no longer allowed.
Or you have gathered so many things on the list of what you want that it has now outstripped the value of the whole property. Sometimes it is an eyesore and it needs to go, but often it is the version of the room that exists in your mind’s eye. I have learnt to ignore builders who stare at me like a madman as I explain what I want and how I want it to look. You do your bit, and I will make the decisions, oh, and pay for it!
So far, we have replaced a staircase, a fireplace, converted an attic into a bedroom, installed a modern kitchen, built two bathrooms from scratch, then done them again ten years later, replaced a roof, fenced the garden, laid paths and patios, added a shed, built a greenhouse and laid a lawn.
Which, written down, does look quite impressive. The thing is, I did make the phone calls and pay the bills myself, but I did not actually build any of those things.
I have made hundreds of cups of coffee, the odd bacon roll, helped carry things, encouraged, explained, and occasionally suggested they might like to do it again. They were all ‘done’ by someone who wasn’t me. Someone with actual skills. Someone who knew what they were doing. Which is why they are still working, usable, and very, very straight.
Oh, except the greenhouse. We built that ourselve., Still standing. Mostly straight.