Stairway to heaven

(Led Zeppelin, 1971)



The last time I mentioned plans, it was to explain the three options for the back kitchen. I don’t think I ever said which option we went for (I know, the suspense).

So without further ado, I present you the new plans showing what it will become. We went for the solution of putting a staircase in the kitchen, which leads directly to the garden.
It’s easiest to see from the side-cut through the kitchen.

Notice the light thing going on – I have to point out that the colours which are rather amateurishly added in are all mine. See the great big windows at the back? and the big window that straddles the landing? And the floor-to-ceiling library in the middle room? We are rather pleased with it all.

Then from the top you have the upper ground/ kitchen level - here you can see the stairs that would take you to the garden (and to the floor below):

And from the back, lots of window:

What this does mean is farewell to the lovely old wooden staircase that leads down to the cellar from the hallway. Lovely because it is original, has not been painted or spoilt, and is aged by a patina which makes the bannister feel right just right to hold on to, and makes you wonder about all those people who have gone up and down those stairs in the last hundred years.

But I have been persuaded that it will be surplus to requirements. Rationally they're right. Three staircases to the lower ground is a little excessive (and doesn’t at all help with the whole energy efficiency thing). But seeing as it is rather lovely, I’ll see if I can find it a new home. Any takers out there? maybe ebay worth a try?

Failing that, it will have to go the great staircase in the sky. Sniff.

Beat it

(Michael Jackson, 1982)



Our main achievement since buying the house has been to clear the garden of the impenetrable jungle.

It turns out, what we’ve done is create a mega communal litter tray for all the neighbourhood cats. Because, it seems, there is nothing a cat likes better that someone else’s freshly cleared earth to turd in. Every time we go to the house, there is another little deposit in the garden, with the telltale scratchings of earth.

Enough is enough.

Ideally, we’d set up a sniper at the kitchen window to shoot water pistols charged with hot chilli water until they understand they are not welcome. (Nope, we are not cat lovers, apart from a couple of very special exceptions). Or we could bring in the heavies, and borrow one of our springer spaniel or greyhound friends to scare them off. No cat would last long against Moon’s legendary speed (you should see how fast he can snatch up a bacon buttie), or Percy’s dastardly dreadlocks and determined nose (at least for tennis balls).

However, as neither of those options is feasible, we turned to the internet for a solution. These seem to range from the lame (sprigs of citronella) to the inhumane (but we’d have problems burying the bodies). We went for a combination of natural deterrent and man-made cunning:

1. Lion poo. The idea being that cats establish their territory with smell. And one thing that will tell them this garden is already spoken for is the smell of a larger, scarier cat. (Who says cats are clever). Available from your local zoo or (preferable) as pellets soaked in essence of lion dung, then dried and sterilised, and sold as “Silent Roar”.

2. The “Defenders Mega Sonic Cat Repeller”, which “incorporates a sophisticated Passive Infra Red detection system, which constantly monitors a fan shaped area of a 98 degrees arc up to a distance of 12 metres. It detects animals moving into this area and triggers a burst of continuously variable ultrasound, which sweeps a frequency range of 18,000Hz, 24,000 Hz to repel them.”

We have today cleared the turds, hopefully for the last time, and laid down the traps.

Beat that pussycat.

Can I Kick It?

(A Tribe Called Quest, 1991)

Ta daa!

What you see here is the result of months of agonising, and the beginning of Things Actually Happening.

It's the planning application, in octuplicate, with detailed plans & photos. Details of what's inside to follow...

All going well, it will be delivered to the Maison Communale tomorrow morning. That starts the clock ticking for the Commune (Schaerbeek) and the Region (Brussels) to give us their verdict. Not entirely sure how these wholly separate institutions will manage to coordinate their views, but Belgium does excel at multiple overlapping layers of government (who needs a federal goverment anyway) so I'm sure it will all work out somehow.

If I understand correctly (a big if), within 30 days we will get confirmation that the application is complete, and then the Region and the Commune each take another 45 days. End of April by my reckoning.
But this doesn't mean we just just sit back and wait. If the building works are really going to start in August as planned, there's the terms of reference to draw up, builders to choose, wallpaper to peel, rubble to clear and bee boxes to hang. Watch this space...

Back to Life

Winter is so over.

Just a week ago, the ground was frozen solid. Grey clouds and drizzle are still lingering on, and we are still some way off balmy evenings, but look what we found today...


The clover seeds we scattered over the ground we'd cleared, to provide some green manure. It was done bit too late, more like October than August, so it had just a month to settle in before the big freeze started. So I'm pleased that some of them survived.

The honeysuckle came from one of C's colleague, while the daffodil and crocus bulbs went in last autumn and also seem to be doing what they should.

Mum's Villosa hydrangea is another story. This is what it looked liked in September when it went in.


And this is what it looked like today... rather ravaged by the frost. Maybe it was a bit little to be left out in such a cold winter.


However, I am sure those are new leaves at the end of the branches, admittedly more brown than green, but I'm hopeful...