Today I am, in a very minor way, a refugee. Sitting in John’s sofa, with the laptop, hoping to get some work done.
Once again, there are building works at home. Last Wednesday a gang of workmen arrived and erected a lot of scaffolding. Right next door, on the side of the house where my office is located.
Then a different gang arrived and started working on the roof. Banging, drilling, sanding, all the usual sounds of building work. Including, intermittently, the worst of all: the ghetto blaster. When it arrived on Monday morning I asked them nicely to turn it off, which they did with good grace, and the day was indeed free of that scourge. But that was too good to last. And the intensity of works seems to be rising: yesterday afternoon the construction symphony was accompanied by clouds of dust drifting across the window.
It’s not as bad as some works we’ve suffered in the past (three months of wall works, or the worst of the building across the road). But with John now working from home, I have an escape I can beg. Let’s see if I get much done from here.