Another Nor Wester

Pete told me, the best time to lay the timber floor is during a raging nor wester. This week there's one nor wester after another appearing over the Alps. A collective puff of wind storms. At my end, I'm conducting a dehumidifying purge to dry out the house. The machine goes all night and when I get there in the morning it's nearly full. Water from the plaster, water from the paint, and water from the concrete. Ian puts a second coat of water sealer on the concrete. It's grey and sticky but not as smelly as the enamel Lance has been slapping on the architraves. Rene arrives but Ian won't let him on the floor. I'm busy at work. No paint here, just talking, marking and arguing. And I get paid for it. 

When I arrive at Ambrose Heal after school, Pete's hard at work applying smelly oil to his newest creation. Frank Lloyd Wright horizontals on a grand scale. I talk door handles from the safety of the door. I've still got to sort the freakin' kitchen handles and knobs. House building... as one door closes, another opens. When I pull up at the house I see white dashes on the pavement. My driveway, ka rawe! Life is moving on. Last errand, check in at the GBC, Granite Benchtop Company. They are sure which stone I've chosen but Murray Hewitt are not. No surprise. I changed part way through. They're not mind readers.