Yahoo Finance The Big Move: I'm not sure which is more painful, my house renovation or my snapped Achilles tendon
This is the third in a five-part series, in which Anna White, former Property Editor of the Telegraph, reveals the pleasures and pains of moving her family out of London into a fixer-upper in Surrey. Read the first and the second here.
"I think it's karma because I've been underperforming domestically since number three came along," my husband confesses, referring to our new child, and my fully ruptured Achilles tendon.
Although I agree with the statement, the meting out of such cosmic retribution on me seems somewhat unfair.
Unlike my beloved husband, my builder has certainly not been underperforming domestically
Back in June, mid-air at a netball tournament, I heard what sounded like a gun shot echo around the court. I had sprung (I use the term loosely) off my left leg and snapped my Achilles. Since then I have spent two months in a cast and on crutches and then in a boot.
Although I now have a massive appreciation for being able-bodied, it's been emotional.
I couldn't, until recently, carry my six-month-old baby from room to room, do the nursery run with my older kids, or wash my own hair.
At family events I quickly adopted the role of portly uncle sweating in the corner. A case in point was my brother-in-law's wedding. The photographer ambushed me as I hobbled up the driveway: "We just need you for a couple of quick piccies. Just pop round the marquee, over the croquet lawn, past the hen chicken run to the back of the garden," she chirped. The 400ft garden. "Oh, and don't dash off." Very droll.
But I stumbled upon coping mechanisms. I would climb the stairs on my knees, wearing a rucksack to collect washing from around the house, throwing my crutches up in front of me like a rather slothful mountaineer.
I quickly discovered I couldn't carry a plate from kitchen to table while hopping, so one evening (during the heatwave) I appeared in the dining room with a chicken fajita wedged in the elastic of my pants, much to my husband's bemusement. Relations have not been the same since.
Open house surgery
In a bid to limit the risk of a re-rupture, my consultant took some tendon from my big toe and secured it in my heel with a screw. Just a few months later, the other reconstructive surgeon in my life – builder Tim Moxey – opened up the house, knocked the back wall down, and is preparing to insert a 7m by 2m [23ft by 6.5ft] piece of steel.
There was a two-week delay in getting my ankle fixed. I was wheeled into Urgent Care at West Middlesex Hospital on a Saturday afternoon but didn't have an ultrasound. The initial and mistaken prognosis was a partial rupture. It wasn't until two weeks later that further investigation revealed a two inch gap between the two flailing ends of my Achilles.
In stark contrast, delays to the building project have totalled a mere few days. The foundations needed to be dug deeper than first thought and the rat trap construction of the Thirties house (where the bottom half of the wall is thicker than the top) caused unforeseeable problems. This masonry technique meant that the steel girder, designed to hold the house up allowing for a new extension, would not sit under the joists of the rooms above it. It called for extra metal plates to welded into the floors of the twins' bedrooms.
Stuck in my rental house in Twickenham, my busted ankle and I haven't been on hand to help with the project, but we haven't been needed. Stephen Donkin, our architect from Stedman Blower, had insisted on a three-hour meeting to finalise plans and agree on every single detail imaginable.
We covered socket placement, window frames, fire door regulations, underfloor heating and garden step dimensions. The minutiae that take the romance out of renovation. As painful as ankle surgery, but without the liquid morphine relief.
But the meticulous Mr Donkin was quite right. That attention to detail paid off. Boss builder Tim simply referred to the plans and forged ahead unhindered by phone calls to me.
This also meant I wasn't paying Stephen to project manage the build, just step in when needed, therefore charging for his time on an ad hoc basis.
On Stephen's advice, Tim and I signed a contract, detailing all prices and contingency costs. As laborious as the process was, that piece of paper has given us both certainty and stopped the budget from spiralling.
Building a new network
Forget being a mum, I now know that good builders are the ultimate multitaskers. I have not chased Moxey Developments at all. In fact, Tim hassles me for the odd decision that he can't make from the drawings: choosing floor tiles for the utility room, for example. Unlike my beloved husband, my builder has certainly not been underperforming domestically.
At family events I quickly adopted the role of portly uncle sweating in the corner
It also helps to have a thrifty Hartlepudlian living down the road. Said neighbour, Dad, searched for accomplished local tradesmen six months ago when he did up his Hampshire house and so had recommendations for me.
Steve Harris from Liss, East Hampshire, decorated the upstairs, built a walk-in wardrobe and will be be replacing all the skirting boards after the flooring is down. He is working closely with Kevin Johnson, who owns On All Floors, also in Liss. Kevin is carpeting upstairs room by room after Steve has painted each one.
So far, this project is marginally behind time but is – miraculously – on budget. Although I can't take any credit for this, here are a couple of lessons I've learnt along the way.
Using builders to finish the smaller tasks, such as fitting skirting or cupboards, can delay completion as they will be juggling with their next project. Get a separate skilled generalist to mop up.
Prepare the neighbours for your building site. Check whether they need car parking space on the road before your lorries take over and show them the initial plans.
Keep lines of communication open during the job so they feel they can contact you, rather than let animosity accumulate before you've even moved in.
Paying for a few more hours of architect time to hone plans and write a contract can save costs racking up over the lifespan of the build.
The project has reached a delicate point. The steel goes in today and the gaps in the upstairs bedroom walls will be closed back up. Next week, Steve will plaster and paint over the scars. (No, I haven't quite exhausted this analogy yet.)
There are risks with using such a large piece of steel and no supporting column. Just like a 37-year-old netball player who's recently had a third kid and has barely moved for three months, there will be some inevitable sagging in the middle.
