When I returned from England I sent off the acceptance of M. Babin's quotation for insulating the roof of the Atelier (which is the back half of the house, and used to be a haybarn and stable). Three days later I was startled to get a call from the friend who had recommended him, saying he'd be over the following morning to clear out the wood and chipboard and old beams and ancient electrical rubbish, so that the scaffolding could be put up in the afternoon ready to start work the next day.
I'd thought it would be a couple of months later. Panic checking of savings accounts! And oh woe, the pound had nosedived again. There was no choice but to empty the savings and transfer it all, at a depressing exchange rate.
For two weeks there has been scaffolding inside the house (yes, the ceiling is that high) and I've had to get up before sunrise to let them in. They have finished now, and there is a big gloriously empty space with an echo which is a bit over the top. When the sun shines I can open the shutters, and then it becomes golden-warm. The view to the west is lovely.
Now all it needs is the music.
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