A Good Cleaning
The big Chinese rug in my living room, was one that C and myself bought in Hong Kong in probably 1985. I remember we imported it personally and I drove the horse box to the docks at Felixstowe to collect it.
In all the years we had it, it had never been cleaned.
Until now.
Cleaning A Carpet
The only real problem was that a basset hound, we used to own, had christened the carpet. But in the end, it came up fairly well.
The Finished Carpet
Obviously it needs to dry off completely. But I think Michael from The Beautiful Cleaning Company did a very good job. And the price was less than I’d budgeted for!
There’s Nothing Like a Good Screw
Or to be fair a hexagonal headed brass bolt.
A Quality Brass Bolt and a Crap Steel One
I’m replacing all the bolts in the staircase with proper brass ones. Note the the steel ones were put in oversized and then just shortened with a hacksaw. But I’ve bought the brass ones the right size!
I think it’s getting to look how the architect intended it to.
But why wasn’t it done properly in the first place?
A House In France
Yet another of my friends have said they are going to buy a house in France. I could be rude about the idea, but I won’t be. On the other hand, I have been there and done it and it never works out how you think it would.
When we bought Les Ondes, we saw it as an investment, a place to stay on holiday and also a place to move to, if we ended up with an extreme left-wing socialist government.
So what happened? In those days getting to the South of France by the airlines was expensive and difficult, but I did have my Cessna 340 and I could fly easily to Cannes and get a hire car to the house.
- The low-cost airlines came along and opened up lots of other places to visit for weekends and longer.
- Small repairs and the builders proved difficult, and things that take a few hours here, took a few weeks there.
- We got burgled a couple of times and had three hire-cars stolen.
- Our children always had other things to do and didn’t want to come.
- We got more involved in horse racing in the UK and this took up more of our time.
- Something you wanted was always in the other house, so you had to have two of everything.
- We missed the theatre and the cinema and started spending virtually every Saturday in London.
So circumstances change and the ideals of the first few holidays quickly disappear.
We sold the house, when we moved to Newmarket to open the stud and then there was another set of problems; the French taxation system, which meant we didn’t get some of the money for ten years.
I’m glad that we sold the house in France, as now after my stroke and C’s death, it would be yet another millstone around my neck and a worry on my mind.
To me now, properties are for two things; living in and for renting out. I have a few of the latter and they give me some income, that if I wanted to, I could use to travel the world. But at the moment, I’m enjoying doing up my new house and travelling all over the UK by train. I’m actually now starting to plan an adventure and it might be somewhere like the Amalfi Coast by train, where I’ll stay somewhere warm for a week or so. There is also Berlin, where I want to see the new museum. But I’ll wait for warmer weather for that.
So although it’s a nice idea on paper, a house in France, is a money pit, that restricts you in your enjoyment in life, by tying you to one place.
Incidentally, I know lots of people with second houses. The ones who use it most have a beach hut on the North Norfolk coast.
So take the money you would spend, invest it wisely and use the returns to rent some other fool’s house when you want a long stay in the sun.
Is Something or Someone Getting At Me?
I’m certain, I’ve read it somewhere, but when you have a stroke you do get a slightly bit paranoid.
I have had a couple of good days, but things seem to keep going wrong despite the most thorough planning beforehand.
It started on Monday, where the house I was wanting to buy in London failed its survey. Let’s face it, I’m crocked enough without having to worry about a house that’s about to fall down on top of me as well.
Yesterday, the plan was simple. I would take the train into Cambridge, play an hour of real tennis and then take a bus back to Newmarket, so that my secretary could pick me up, when she went into town to do the banking. The tennis was great and really does help my movement and left arm, but then Stagecoach intervened. I got to the Drummer Street Bus Station at about 13:45 and that should have given me plenty of time to catch the bus a few minutes after two. When you can’t drive, you get used to the waiting. At 14:40 or so I gave up, as despite the text system telling me three times buses were due, nothing arrived. Obviously Stagecoach have it in for me.
I walked to the train station to catch the next train to Dullingham, which meant a wait at the station until 15:43. But at least the train was on time, even if the single coach was very crowded.
Friday improved after that, as I watched the cricket, where Trott and Broad entertained everybody with some purposeful batting. Also, a friend came round with a goodbottle of wine for pasta in the evening and we put the horse racing industry to rights. He even brought my basset hound a friend to play with!
Today was very much a curate’s egg. It started well, as a friend took me to the station to get the train to London and the train was on-time all the way. I had been intending to see several houses in London with my son, but five viewings had been reduced to two overnight and both had problems. I just feel that something is telling me that I have to stay here for the winter as a punishment. Where I live may be beautiful and in the middle of the country, but when on some days, you see no-one except the postman and the paper lady it is not good. At least my basset hound hasn’t decided to go and live elsewhere!
At least, I was able to get to Ipswich to see Town beat Bristol City, with the help of Calamity James. Sorry David, but you were at fault for both goals. This blog was also publicised in the program.
My problems today started, when I tried to get home. The train to Bury St. Edmunds was on time, but I couldn’t find a taxi in the town. One number said that I could have a taxi at 21:30.
Eventually, I walked to the town centre and found one, that drove me home. But because he was on the rank, he was fifty percent more expensive.
So am I right to feel paranoid? If I’m honest, I suppose I should forgo the simple pleasures in life, like watching Ipswich Town and just watch what Sky deigns to make available.
But that would mean giving into those dark forces that are trying to make me miserable!
I am however made of sterner stuff and won’t let the bastard or bastards get me down!
The other problem is that the bastard getting at me, has made Monday a Bank Holiday. So that means family viewing on the box and no decent sport either.
Back to Square One
I had thought that I’d found a house to move to in Canonbury in North London. But it failed the survey yesterday, and so I won’t be buying it.
But at least there would seem to be lots of suitable places for sale in the area to the east of Highbury and Islington.
So I’m going to start looking again.
I would really love to live in de Beauvoir Town, as C and I nearly moved there years ago, but instead we went to the flat in the Barbican.
I remember that we looked at a house owned by the writer, Alun Owen. Strangely, I’d met him before when he was a guest at dinner in the Liverpool University hall of residence, where I lived in my last year at University. Owen is probably best known for his screenplay for the first Beatles film, A Hard Day’s Night!
C Comes to me in a Dream
I don’t often dream of C, as I rarely dream about people, but I did last night. We were house hunting in Hampstead, or more likely a bit south-west. At one point we were in a garage and a lady appeared with a basset hound. He was called Lord Kinloch and two others appeared. We both thought this was the area for us. We were looking at a wreck of a property, when we met the very personable Asian developer. He said that he had the property for us just off Marylebone Lane. C also said she could put him in touch with a solicitor from Swindon, who had property to convert in London. The dream ended as we drove to Marylebone Lane.
The funny thing about the dream was that C was driving a blue Jaguar XJ-S. She had several, but all were red.
Looking Around Docklands
I sometimes think that I’d like to have a flat in Docklands. I have so much junk, that it might be a good idea to live with the minimum of baggage. Especially, if I was going to travle a lot.
So I went and looked at a flat out of interest.
The flat was nice, with large rooms and great views of the Dome. But the parking for the Lotus was not good enough.
But I liked the area and especially as there is a Carluccio’s nearby.
Higher Eco-Taxes
I have always been an advocate of high environmental taxes on energy. I first wrote about this some years ago in a previous blog.
The main reason is that if the taxes are basically neutral and are balanced by a reduction in Income Tax, this measure probably would take a large number of people out of the tax system completely. This would give a greater incentive for people to work hard and cut large numbers of dead wood out of the tax collection system.
Obviously, if energy was expensive you would spend your extra money to save it, by putting insulation and energy-efficient heating systems into your house and getting a more efficient car. People would also work more from home and ideas would be developed to facilitate this. Perhaps pubs and post offices could become local business centres in both towns and the countryside.
The higher the taxes, the more innovative people will become.
Perhaps surprisingly, even if the measures were tax neutral, you would raise more money, because a lot of the worst gas-guzzlers seem to be owned by those with no visible means of support. i.e. higher eco-taxes would be a tax on the black economy.
So I was pleased to see the Green Fiscal Commission thinking my way.
They make one mistake thought, in that they feel there should be a high tax on new cars. That is wrong, as we want people to buy new cars that are fuel-efficient.
I think too, that we should encourage people to have a range of vehicles for different circumstances. For instance, you might use a very fuel-efficient runabout to go to work, but at weekends, you may use say a five or six seater to take your family and dogs to the coast. I would also replace Vehicle Excise Duty, with a small Registration Tax, that would be enforced very rigidly. You’d only pay the tax, when you bought the vehicle.
Reasons for Small Houses
I like this article in The Times.
I sometimes wonder about selling my large house, getting rid of most of my possessions and live in a small flat somewhere in either Cambridge or London. All I’d need is a very large laptop and I could travel the world as I wished.
The Anonymous Widower 