Ask most people how long their home renovation took and the answer is likely to be about three months. Mine seems to have taken longer for several reasons: my contractor is in such demand that only two men work on my house on most days; bad weather, which has held up progress and added to the work; and my staying put.
Of course, I would have preferred to have moved out for the duration, but a serviced apartment proved too pricey. Then there was the dog. Who would have the space and time for a 30kg German shepherd used to being walked twice a day?
Besides, an American friend who placed his pooch in quarantine on moving to London reported that it wasn't the same afterwards. 'He now suffers separation anxiety and wets himself whenever I leave the house,' Mike said.
Although the din and dust have driven me to distraction, there have been advantages to living on a construction site. Having workers arrive at 9am every day forces me to crawl out of bed when the woop-woop birds start singing. That way I can fit in morning activities before the madness begins.
But then the painter started turning up at 8am - only to sit around for an hour with the radio blaring so I could never tell whether he was suddenly going to appear in my private zone (meaning the ground floor, while work continues upstairs ). He once caught me doing sit-ups in my knickers when he ventured down with an important announcement: I was out of loo paper.
I'm not sure my contractor, Joe, appreciates having to work around me, though, because it means daily meetings during which I point out the latest mistakes. Sometimes I think he minces around and mimes instructions to his workers so I won't know he's around. When I went upstairs recently to ask why my shower curtain had been used to protect against paint splatters, I was told Joe had just left. Ditto the time I wanted to point out the cat's toilet was missing its in/out flap (she's on holiday until the project is finished). I daren't ponder for what purpose the workers had used that piece of plastic.